


The Best Laid Plans

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-05 03:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1802977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Shion doesn’t know how to meet people, and Nezumi is a Shakespeare snob.  Also road trips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In which Timon of Athens is over-discussed

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted on tumblr and ff.net. Well, I've decided to continue this one, since folks expressed desire to see it continued, so I thought I'd post it up here and update it at leisure. I don't have a schedule going and it's really gonna be a slapdash thing but expect occasional shorts.

            No one ever reads the bulletin board. It is made of plain cork. The cork itself is only made visible after lifting the psychedelic flash of papers that are supposed to be eye catching, but when placed together, actively force anyone attempting to read them away with their near-radioactive brightness.

            Nezumi somehow manages to spot the note anyway, while on his way to the library to return a copy of _Much Ado About Nothing_ —his personal copy currently missing in action. It’s handwritten on basic notebook paper, obviously torn out of a spiral, because the fringe still remains. Somehow the plainness of the paper only makes it stand out more amongst the colors.

_Good morning, (or afternoon depending on the time you are reading this I suppose.)_

_My name is Shion and I am a sophomore. I am currently looking for a group to accompany me on a long road trip. I do not know of the destination, but I am willing to take suggestions. I just want to get out of this city for a while._

_Please meet me at the school entrance and we’ll see if we can work out gas expenses. Please contact your families and get permission before we go._

_I hope to hear from some of you soon._

_Shion_

            It’s completely idiotic. With school still going on no one good is going to take this _Shion_ up his offer. The only ones hopping off now either don’t care, or are planning on dropping out. On top of that, the bulletin board is in public view any idiot off the street could read it.

           Perhaps Shion’s counting on that and is looking for a couple of gang members to have his back as he goes on a rampage, but then there’s really no reason to notify parents.

           As it is, Nezumi reasons, he’s probably just lonely. He reads the note again, studying the handwriting. It’s neat, definitely planned out beforehand. This wasn’t some spur of the moment decision.

There’s something sort of endearing about the student’s attempt to get company.  

           It’s going to be a real shame when he gets mugged. Or worse.

Nezumi figures he’s saving the man a lot of grief by taking the piece of notebook paper off the board and placing it in his pocket.

           It surprises Nezumi that he’s taking the time to protect the sort of imbecile that can’t even realize he’s placed a honeyed invitation for aspiring serial killers on the school bulletin—but the shock is fleeting and unimportant and Nezumi has a book to return so he forgets about Shion and the note soon enough.

           After several arguments with the librarian because, no, of course he didn’t steal their copy of _Timon of Athens_ , if he was going to steal he’d obviously go after one of his better plays like _Othello,_ what kind of moron did she take him for— Nezumi is finally able to peruse the stacks. He’s debating taking a break from Shakespeare and spending some quality time with Molière, when a voice interrupts his train of thought.

           “What’s wrong with _Timon of Athens_?”

Nezumi blinks once, twice, before turning to face the speaker. The first thing he notices is a stupid tan beanie. Who the hell wears something like that inside with 90 degree weather outside?

           He’s probably a nerd.

He’s got a cute face, round cheeks, large eyes that are an interesting shade of brown- almost purple. Nezumi’s tempted to look closer but the student quickly breaks eye contact in favor of glancing at his plain brown loafers. He realizes he’s waiting for him to reply.

           Nezumi scoffs.“What _isn’t_ wrong with _Timon of Athens_? It’s just pure, unbridled, shoddiness from beginning to end. Probably unfinished, definitely unedited—it’s bullshit. Shakespeare needs to steer away from morality plays, really.”

           To his surprise, the student laughs. “Wow, you’re really passionate about this.”

           Damn right he’s passionate. “I just don’t like people thinking just because Shakespeare wrote something it’s actually good. Need to form your own opinion, not follow like a sheep.”

           “You don’t like Shakespeare?”

           “Now let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There are some masterpieces there, they’re just hidden underneath a lot of junk, like everything else” Nezumi clarifies, and the student laughs again. The odd man stretches out a hand, looking much more confident than he was before. His eyes, Nezumi notes, actually are purple, not simply brown, and there’s a peek of white sticking out from underneath his beanie.

           Just what is this guy?

The student smiles at him, and Nezumi realizes he’s staring.

           “I’m Shion. Can I ask you a favor?”

           And Nezumi suddenly understands the particular brand of idiocy that declares hanging a handwritten note from a sketchy school bulletin board as a totally okay means of friend-making; it’s the same brand that strikes up conversations with strangers in libraries about _Timon of Athens_ and asks for a favor.

It’s time to get out of this. He’s stuck his neck out one time too many for this pampered prince today.

           “Sorry, but I’m busy.” Nezumi curtly replies, but Shion will have none of it.

           “You aren’t busy. You just told the librarian you would be here all night to annoy her.”

           Nezumi scowls. “It was a threat. I have things to do.”

           “But not for at least a few hours. People don’t make threats like that without having some time to follow through. And this will only take a couple minutes.” Shion swallows, his shoulders sinking slightly, “Believe me, I wouldn’t ask if I was allowed to do it myself.”

It’s the damn beanie. It’s so out of place on Shion’s head, and his shuffling is so uncomfortable. Nezumi weakens.

           “What is it?”

           “Can you…um. Well, you mentioned stealing _Othello_ earlier—“

           “—If you’re about to ask me to steal fucking _Othello_ I don’t—“

           Shion snorts, shaking his head, “Nothing that illegal. They have 3 copies. I was wondering if you could buy one for me. I’ll pay you after. ”

The simple request surprises him. The library doubled as a bookstore when multiple copies of a book were in stock,

           “Why can’t you buy it yourself if you have the money?”

Shion’s looking at his loafers again. He’s frowning, looking so thoroughly miserable that Nezumi almost regrets asking. “They won’t sell it to me.”

           “And why’s that?” Nezumi inquires.

Shion swallows, scratches his neck before looking up at Nezumi. “I was expelled. Earlier this week.”

           Wait— _what_? Nezumi pauses. He knew the schoolboard was going to hell but _expulsion_? What could someone like Shion do to get expelled? Bend a flower?

           “What did you do?”

           Shion shakes his head. “A friend of mine was being bullied and I attacked the student.” He pauses, emphasizes, “I wasn’t planning on killing him, just so you know. I know they’ve been spreading rumors around about me.”

           “Wait, hang on—what? Who did you attack?”

           Shion frowns. “I only knew him as Rashi. He kicked me around a lot as a kid so…I guess it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. His family isn’t charging, but the school board decided to have me expelled. I don’t feel bad about defending Sa—my friend, but the effects are truly unfortunate.”

           Shion had balls— Nezumi would give him that. Unexpected, and surprisingly unapologetic balls, but balls nonetheless.

_Maybe he really is looking for a gang._

           Shion scratches his neck again. “If you don’t want to buy the book I’ll find someone else. I didn’t mean to, ah, force that on you.”

But Nezumi’s already heading toward the counter, and pulling out his wallet. Shion watches him from the shelves, unable to keep a slight smile from creeping onto his face.

Nezumi returns with a bag, and a still-smiling Shion digs in his wallet for payment.

           “Thank you so much.”

He hands Nezumi the 4 dollars for _Othello,_ checking the bag, surprised to find another book beside it in the bag. _Timon of Athens_ stares up at him. At Shion’s questioning look, Nezumi simply shrugs and says,

           “It was 50 cents, rightfully so, and you clearly haven’t read it. Don’t go off my judgment. Decide what you think on your own.”

Shion glows at him. “Don’t be a sheep, you mean.”

           “Exactly.” Nezumi frowns, “Oh, and I have something else for you too.”

           He digs in his pocket for the note and offers it back to a confused Shion,

           “You shouldn’t hang this on the bulletin, your car is going to get filled with creeps.”

Shion blinks.

           “Oh, my note,” He frowns. “You took it down? But I still have an empty seat. If you’re worried about creeps I’ve been doing thorough interviews…I’m a pretty good judge of character, you know.”

           “I’ll fill it.”

           The words are out of Nezumi’s mouth before he can help it. It comes out of nowhere, the sudden need to stick around this mystery that’s willing to get expelled for nearly killing a kid but refuses to steal a book from the library.

The same mystery that picks travelling companions through a sketchy bulletin board, but has to make sure they alert their parents first.

           He’s cute and a little creepy with his purple eyes and white hair. Nezumi knows he’d be a fool to pass this chance up.

He’s drawn to him.

And judging by the way Shion practically sparkles back at him and says “I’ll get my interview questions ready!” the feeling is mutual.

 

 


	2. Odyssey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shakespeare is not discussed in this chapter. I know you're disappointed. Be strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2-- what, what! The car Shion drives is a Mercury Grand Marquis. Official decision that will not change.

“They cancelled?”

“They cancelled.”

Shion’s looking downright crestfallen as he rests against his car door, beanie-clad head tilted down in shame.

“I was so sure this would work and they would all show up here. I told them at the interviews!” Shion sighs audibly, “I guess they stood us up.”

Nezumi can only shake his head, circling the little tan car, stopping to examine the door opposite Shion. The car’s not in bad shape or anything. There’s a shine to it that obviously was earned through determined cleaning. It’s just _old_. He doesn’t know what to call it. He’s far from car illiterate but this particular model leaves his mind blank. They probably didn’t make it anymore. Why did Shion have one?

            From this side of the car, Nezumi gets a good view of Shion’s back. How a _back_ could look so miserable is beyond him. He feels his heart tug a little bit, and determines to ignore it before he hears Shion’s frustrated sigh. His voice is soft, but irritated, “I just don’t understand what I did wrong.” 

Well, he can’t just leave him like that.

            Nezumi can count the number of times he’s tried to cheer someone up without asking for something in return on one hand, but he tries anyway.

He offers Shion his best lazy grin, resting his arms on the hood of the car in a position that he knows is alluring.

“Maybe they saw this death trap and took off.”

It’s supposed to be a joke, something to bring Shion back to reality so he doesn’t get lost in the failings of other people. Unfortunately, the unplanned nature of Nezumi’s positioning hits him in the form of _scalding pain_. It’s boiling outside and the heat from the metal of the car hood is merciless against his arms. Smooth going.

He starts to retract his arms but Shion has now turned around to shoot him a glare, “It’s not a death trap. It’s actually surprisingly fuel efficient.”

Nezumi manages a chuckle he hopes sounds sardonic and not pained.  “An old model like that?”

            “Old models can be updated,” Shion frowns at him, something like concern in his eyes. “Aren’t your arms hot up there?”

And Nezumi is trapped. An irrational part of him is now determined to prove that nothing could possibly be _too hot_ for him. He tries to swallow his pride and remove his arms, but what comes out of his mouth is a surprisingly nonchalant, “It’s manageable."

Shion looks a little confused but nods, clearly still caught up in his own thoughts. “Okay.”

 It isn’t. But like hell Nezumi’s going to admit that now that he’s said he can handle it.

            Nezumi smiles as he questions his place in the universe, and this newfound, disturbing, willingness to embrace discomfort if it means impressing Shion. The student isn’t even impressed, and yet Nezumi finds himself unable to admit defeat. He can’t just stop power posing, that’s not allowed. His personal pride’s at stake here. He keeps talking-- anything to distract himself from the hot metal, “So I guess we aren’t leaving today.”

Shion sighs, and fiddles with his phone. “I have to leave today.”

The comment fails to register with Nezumi. It’s not that he’s ignoring Shion, he’s just slightly distracted by the need to intensely berate himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He didn’t need this pain. His arms were going to be red as hell and then what was he going to tell Shion?

_Why can’t he just move his damn arms?_

            He’s frantically planning his escape strategy— _fuck Shion_ — until he gets a good look at the man. He’s looking worse than before, having turned around again. His eyes are entirely focused on his phone, unreadable and distant. Nezumi’s position allows him to see over his shoulder and view the display. The screen shows a steady stream of messages. For a fleeting moment Nezumi thinks Shion’s still attempting to converse with their former traveling companions but he sees the recipient of Shion’s messages is simply labeled _Mom._

            Something inside his heart catches a little and Nezumi bites his lip. He fights it down and manages a grim smile.

“Talking with your mama?” He lowers his arms. The heat from the car suddenly seems so dreadfully unimportant.

 “It’s rude to read someone’s texts over their shoulder” —Shion matches his smile in discomfort— “but yes, I am.”

Nezumi holds up his hands in a way that shows he’s entirely unapologetic for his actions but still acknowledges their rudeness. Shion seems vaguely amused. “She disapproves of your little adventure?”

Something flashes briefly across Shion’s face— _annoyance?_ He shakes his head. “Not at all. She understands I have to do this, more than anyone else. I’m the one who has cold feet.”

            Nezumi watches Shion, when he speaks, it’s quieter than he expects. “Why are you doing this, Shion?”

            Shion pauses for a few seconds, taking the time to seriously think about his answer. When he speaks, it’s a long release.“I’ve never left this city, you know. I grew up here all my life and I—I don’t know anything about anywhere else. I don’t…”

He halts and swallows, frowning. He’s omitting things but Nezumi understands well enough that telling an almost-stranger your life story isn’t exactly the easiest task, or the fairest. Nezumi has no intention to reciprocate. Which begs the question, why did Nezumi want to know so badly?

Shion quietly continues. “I just can’t be around here anymore. I thought… I thought that having a group to travel with would finally force me to leave. Especially after being expelled. But I’m still hesitating. Even with you, I’m still—“

“This is a problem of yours, not of mine.” Shion blinks, meeting Nezumi’s eyes. Nezumi frowns a little, “I’m not saying that to be an ass. You shouldn’t rely on other people to make you do things, or do things for you. You’re the only one who can decide what happens.”

Shion almost winces, “You’re right but—no. You’re right.” Shion looks down. Nezumi catches another glimpse of his hair under the beanie. Definitely white. Nezumi finds himself wanting to force the hat off his head to examine it fully. “I didn’t mean to say all that. I shouldn’t have pushed all that on you.”

“You don’t have to feel bad about that. I asked because I wanted to know.” Nezumi smiles, ignoring the weird flip his stomach does as he speaks honestly. He taunts Shion to make up for it, “See? That’s how you accept responsibility.”

          Shion laughs, gentle and clear. Nezumi feels himself smile. Shion’s shoulders are still tense and he’s clearly thinking hard, but he seems to have cheered up somewhat. Nezumi feels oddly fulfilled. “That comment was pretty unnecessary, Nezumi.”

Nezumi chuckles with him. “They can’t all be winners.”

“Why did you agree to come with me, Nezumi?” Shion suddenly asks, and Nezumi feels himself freeze.

He knows what social protocol dictates. Shion told him why he was travelling, so it’s only fair that he return the favor. “I just felt like coming along,” he dodges, feeling a little guilty.

            To Nezumi’s surprise, Shion doesn’t press, and they stand in silence for a moment. Shion pockets his phone, realizing he’s been holding it this whole time. “Do you still want to come? Even if it’s only with me?”

There’s something under his words there, a different offer. Shion’s watching him carefully. Nezumi smiles a little, trying to shake off some the awkwardness he feels. “Why are you asking me that? Because you want companionship, or because you’re running away again?”

Not to be tricked, Shion shakes his head. “Neither. I’m not asking for me this time. I already know what I want.” Shion smiles, confidently opening the car door for himself and climbing in the driver’s side. “Decide for yourself, Nezumi.”

For some reason, Nezumi doesn’t hesitate. He tugs open the side door and takes the seat beside Shion.

Shion smiles at him and starts the engine.


	3. The innate perversity of inanimate objects

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shion and Nezumi belligerently fix a GPS.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter lengths are gonna vary epically.

        Shion’s using a damn GPS. Or rather, Shion is _trying_ to use a damn GPS but the damn GPS won’t work, _dammit_.

        Shion apologizes after each muffled curse. Nezumi just shakes his head. At least Shion has the good sense to pull over before picking a fight with technology. They’ve stopped about a mile out. Resistentialism is working at its finest, truly.

Nezumi watches Shion’s stressed face and bites down a laugh.

        His brows are knit together as he ineffectually unplugs and re-plugs what Nezumi assumes is his charger into a GPS. The “road closed” sign looms over them, seeming to mock Shion with its cruel sign-ish indifference. He keeps looking up at it as if it’s personally at fault for his GPS’s stalwart, but futile, search for a signal.

        He looks so serious, so _focused_. If Nezumi were to open the door and walk out he doubted Shion would so much as look up. Not that Nezumi is planning on walking out-- this is far, far too entertaining. A real private performance: the ideal struggle against an invisible enemy. A GPS really makes a fantastic scene partner— definitely better than any of the up-in-coming theatre majors. Nezumi makes a mental note to retain this knowledge for later.

        He lets Shion engage in ruthless battle for about 10 minutes before commenting.

“You know, most man-versus-machine stories have very definite victors— perhaps it would be best if you simply offered your deepest apologies and begged to keep your head. I hear GPS’s are quite magnanimous in victory.”

Shion manages a frank, “If you keep talking like that, it’s not _my_ head I’m worried for.”

Nezumi is affronted. “Why Shion, that sounded like a threat!" 

“It was.” Shion mumbles as he pries at the back of the GPS with his fingers. It does not open.

        Nezumi laughs, to his surprise Shion offers a slight smile in response. Shion holds the GPS up, blowing on it. Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

         “Is that supposed to do something?”

        “I don’t see you offering a better suggestion!” Shion counters, voice a little too high to be angry. There’s an extremely faint blush dotting his cheeks. Nezumi assumes it’s from the awkward situation but it really just could be the heat. After all, the car is turned off and promptly getting hotter, and Shion’s still determined to keep that beanie on.

        Despite his efforts Shion’s white hair really is obvious at this point. Nezumi debates making an executive decision and forcing a costume change. Now really isn’t the time however. After all, Shion is _blushing_ and that presents an entirely new set of options.

        He’s almost tempted to soothe that embarrassment, assure Shion that this sort of thing happens all the time and not to worry about it.

_But…_

        He kind of wants to make things a little harder just to see what will happen. Seeing Shion endearingly flustered is far more appealing a prospect then simply trying to calm him down and fix the GPS. He manages to keep his voice light and just _this_ side of mocking, resting his cheek against the window. It’s warm against his skin, despite the relative heat of the car, since they really haven’t been pulled over that long. It’s a pleasant feeling.

         “Oh, are you open to suggestions now? I was under the impression that you wanted to do this one on your own. You’re doing such a good job turning it off and on, it’s truly a miracle it hasn’t found itself.”

Shion sighs instead of getting flustered— _damn it_ — and offers Nezumi a fleeting cold stare.

         “What do you suggest, Nezumi?” The way he delivers his line, utterly absorbed in the _very_ important task of jabbing at the reset button with a pencil for the 90 th time, clearly expresses little to no desire to hear any of what Nezumi thinks. It’s made in polite formality. Nezumi feels a little bad.

“I could probably fix the GPS for you if you really want me to. But, don’t you think it’s more fun having no destination?”

        Shion seems a little irritated by his confidence, but hardly surprised. He’s learning fast, Nezumi notes with vague and inexplicable concern. “It’s important to know where we’re going. I’m not about to drive us into the middle of river.”

“At this rate, you’re not about to drive us anywhere.” Nezumi grins before making grabby hands for the GPS. “Give it here. If the internal antennae, or anything is damaged there’s nothing I can do— but it may just be jostled a little.”

        Shion complies without hesitation. He unbuckles so he gets a better look at the device now in Nezumi’s hands. He’s still got his focused face on. Nezumi watches Shion out of the corner of his eye, bringing the GPS to his ear and shaking it a little. Well, nothing’s loose at least. “Can you get my bag for me? There are some tools in there.”

        Shion pauses before crawling into the backseat and tugging up Nezumi’s plain black bag. He sets it in the space between them, still hovering curiously. “I thought you were a theatre major.”

“Machines are bit of a hobby of mine. I used to read a lot of books on them.” Nezumi remarks offhandedly, digging around the side pocket and producing a small screwdriver. He starts opening up the GPS. To his surprise, Shion quietly interrupts him.

“Nezumi?”

He grunts a little in reply. “Yes, Shion?”

        Shion’s voice is almost a whisper, hesitant, but purposeful. “Can you narrate what you’re doing? I’d like to be able to fix it myself next time.” Shion’s staring at his hands. Nezumi’s a little proud of himself for not fumbling under the directness of his gaze.

 He nods. “Yeah, sure, if you think you can remember.”

“I’ll remember.”

        Shion turns out to be a remarkable student, easily understanding the workings of the GPS after a little coaching. Nezumi winds up handing him the GPS and telling him to fix it based on instruction alone. Shion seems a little tentative at first, but without reason. As he screws the final screw in and powers up the GPS successfully, his smile could probably compete with the sun in brightness.

“We fixed it, Nezumi!”

“Yeah, well, we weren’t messing with much of it. It was just an antennae issue after all.”

        Shion shakes his head. “Minor adjustment or not, I still probably wouldn’t have opened it up on my own. Without you, we’d probably be down a GPS!” Shion’s beaming at him and Nezumi has to turn a little to keep from staring. His own voice surprises him.

“Glad to help.”

And he is. Weirdly.

        Shion starts up the car, plugging in some unseen destination, Nezumi insisting it’s still entirely unnecessary to even use the GPS for a sudden trip like this one. But they fall into comfortable silence soon enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't try to fix the internal antennae on your GPS by dismantling it and pushing stuff around. Professionals only. 
> 
> If your GPS loses signal it probably lost it because of clouds or your windshield being too thick. Or it needs a reset. 
> 
> Don't be Nezumi.


	4. Nezumi regrets fixing the GPS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shion drives on and the comfortable silence slowly drifts into miserable quiet. Something has to change.

         The light-brown dirt road looks almost orange in the fading light. Nezumi paws lazily at the switch near his elbow in order to lower his window slightly, granting him a better look at the dying morning. He’s almost startled by the steady rush of air, which greets him as the window lowers. He checks the open section of the window to make sure none of the dust from outside gets in the car, although really, he wouldn’t care too much if any happened to sneak in. Ruining Shion’s car would at least give them something to talk about, which is more than they had now.

         Fortunately or unfortunately his fleeting worries are unfounded. Despite the wheels of Shion’s car picking up dust, the dust cloud appears small enough not to get into the car. Nezumi lowers the window completely to tempt fate anyway--maybe he’ll get lucky. He knows he should relax, that he’s probably making some sort of troubled face, but to be fair, when he signed up for a road trip he signed up for a _road trip_ , and not an awkward, _silent_ , uncomfortably long car ride with a stranger.

          He sighs, trying, for once, not to complain and handle this calmly. In a wistful moment, he’s almost tempted to close his eyes and listen to the wind whirring past them, the steady thrum of the engine, and Shion’s steady breathing in the seat next to him. But he’d miss out on the view. The light seems to catch on the loose particles from the dust cloud they’re building, painting the whole expanse around them a sort of dusty amber.

          It’s absolutely breathtaking and Shion hasn’t said a word about it. In fact, Shion hasn’t even seemed to notice the fantastic view around him. The silence between them grows heavier. It’s a stifling, dreadful feeling, vaguely reminiscent of being wrapped up too tightly in an itchy blanket. Nezumi can almost feel the unspoken words piling up between them, growing more colossal by the second, it’s only a matter of time before something breaks and everything comes tumbling down and out.

          The GPS feeds Shion directions in a metallic, dull voice. Nezumi momentarily debates throwing it out the window just to watch it splinter all over the road but crushes the impulse. It's tempting, but not worth the risk of Shion getting pissy and kicking him out of the car.

          He occasionally feels Shion risk a look in his direction, when he’s not entirely absorbed in the demands of the GPS or the road in front of him, but when Nezumi glances back at him, he immediately focuses on the road again. He’s somewhat surprised by the disappointment he feels every time Shion refuses to meet his gaze. 

          After a few minutes Nezumi hears a quiet, vague sound from Shion’s direction. Nezumi glances at Shion, listening carefully, poised to reply with sharpened wit. After another minute passes he begins to doubt he ever heard Shion make the noise in the first place. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.

         He starts to lean back in his seat when he hears it again. Definitely a gulping sound. Shion’s swallowing? Nezumi tries his best to spy skillfully, but Shion catches his stare. To Nezumi’s surprise he doesn’t break away for once and hesitantly opens his mouth. Nezumi feels himself leaning closer, hanging on whatever’s about to be said because really this took Shion fucking long enough--this build up is _ridiculous_ \-- when the GPS loudly alerts them of a right turn ahead.

          They both jump. Shion's mouth clamps shut and his grip on the wheel tightens, eyes glued to the road again. Nezumi suddenly finds a nonexistent stain on the window extremely fascinating. 

          Silence returns to the car with unwelcome familiarity. Nezumi drums his fingers against the armrest irritably. He can almost feel the potential conversation curling up and dying somewhere in the back of Shion’s throat. Had he known that fixing the damn GPS would effectively assassinate this undoubtedly _very important_ conversation before it began, he would have smashed the thing before they’d even set out. He debates smashing it now just to get even. It’s certainly monopolized Shion’s attention enough. 

          Shion makes no moves to speak again and the worn, miserable thread that is Nezumi’s patience snaps in two.

          “I sincerely hope you know you’re doing this road trip all wrong.” Nezumi remarks before sticking his head out the window to escape from the silence.

          He tries again to listen to the comforting sound of the wind, and the repetitive crunching of car wheels on the dirt road. He does shut his eyes this time. When the rush fails to comfort him he lets out a long, despairing groan to the universe—he’s aware it’s a childish move, but he’s feeling so terribly _ignored_ that he can’t bring himself to regret it too much. His hair hits him in the face and he chokes a little on it as well as the dust cloud. It’s still more exciting than Shion.

Shion doesn’t bother looking in Nezumi’s direction. “I wasn’t aware there was a wrong way to do this.”

          Nezumi leans back into the car and rolls the window up, the thrum of the wind quiets. The auditory loss fills him with a fleeting and inexplicable loneliness. Nezumi shoves it down, speaking. “Neither was I. But you found it.”

          He taps at the closed glass impatiently as the GPS informs them of another upcoming right turn. Nezumi throws his voice and imitates it mockingly. Shion takes the turn, ignoring him. Nezumi sighs and rests his forehead against the window, wondering why he even bothered to get in this car in the first place. He hears Shion shift and ignores him, still petulant. Something like a laugh interrupts his thoughts and he turns slightly, eying his companion.

          He must’ve imagined the sound because Shion’s face is unexpectedly blank. He seems relaxed, but it feels fake-- a plastic sort of content. When he speaks it doesn’t quite match his face, a little too blunt for him to be completely casual.

“Well, enlighten me then, what’s the right way?”

         Nezumi looks at Shion, examining the beanie in his hair, while at first he found it endearing the worn hat has long since lost its charm. The longer Nezumi spends around Shion the clearer it becomes that the beanie is just another way to cover up whatever Shion thinks others shouldn’t see. Why is Shion hiding himself like that? Who does he think he’s fooling?

          He stares at the focused purple of Shion’s eyes. They’re intense, despite all his attempts to shroud them. He’s always staring ahead, straight ahead, and it’s better than looking back but it’s not enough. It’s not enough when Shion’s still covering up what’s right under his hat. Why he feels the need to cover himself up, Nezumi doesn’t understand, although he’s certain Shion has his reasons for hiding, he understands the importance of secrets and privacy better than anyone.

          He’s curious, but as he watches his companion’s purposeful eyes, Nezumi is, for the first time since getting into the car with Shion, a little nervous about what he may find.

Is it worth staying to find out?

 The GPS’s voice rings out: another right turn. Nezumi decides.

  “Pull over.”

Shion blinks. “Now? Where?”

“You see that farmland? Right there. Stop there.”

          Something flashes across Shion’s face. To Nezumi’s surprise, it’s not discomfort, or a lack of willingness. He seems almost excited. An odd, withheld sort of excitement, but excitement nonetheless. “What if someone lives there?”

“With a barn like that? All the animals would escape. It’s abandoned. Chop, chop, Shion.”

Shion pulls over. The GPS recalculates. They both ignore it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPEEDY UPDATE HA. Stuff is happening. Would you look at that? The GPS sure gets a lot of screen time.


	5. Watching the world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi and Shion walk around a field. So exciting.

        Shion pulls onto the grass, stopping near the middle of the field, which Nezumi thinks is a little rude; abandoned farmland is still farmland after all, but it’s the first interesting move he’s made in the 4 hours they’ve been travelling together so Nezumi doesn’t dare complain.

         Shion turns toward Nezumi in his seat, back straightening out, his eyes shining with curiosity. The plastic smile from before is gone, replaced by a face alert with genuine interest.  Nezumi thinks he’s going to speak but instead violet eyes stare at him steadily, daring him to elaborate. Not one to be baited, Nezumi stretches his arms as best he can in the small car seat.

          “Do you need something Shion?” Nezumi asks, voice playful, and just a little higher than usual.

          “Well, I would like to know why you asked me to pull over. Although--” Shion looks out the window, voice impressively relaxed, “--it’s a bit of a welcome break from your moaning. I had no idea a car could be so uncomfortable.”

         Nezumi coughs a little, feeling like a scolded child. “I didn’t see you doing anything to remedy that particular situation.”

         “You were making so many irritated noises, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to ‘remedy’ it,” Shion deadpans.

          “I was trying to get your—“ Nezumi’s defensive retort is halfway out his mouth when he realizes that Shion is _teasing_ him. He shuts his mouth, blinking a few times. “Shion, you’re actually a bit of a dick. I’m almost impressed.”

         Shion practically glows with pride and laughs warmly. Something squirms around in Nezumi’s chest at the sound.

         “Thank you, Nezumi“ Nezumi’s unbuckling his seatbelt when he hears Shion speak next to him, his voice dripping with fatal amounts of sincerity. Nezumi debates bolting out of the car, but that would be rude.

         Shion’s smiling widely. Nezumi understands he isn’t talking about his previous comment. He’s tempted to roll his eyes or push him a little because really, there’s nothing to sound so grateful about, all he did was command they pull over to alleviate some of the tension that had built up in the car. It’s really not that big of a deal and certainly not worth _thanking_ him for.

         “Ah.” He articulates, and scratches his neck, uncomfortable with Shion’s directness.

         As if sensing Nezumi’s discomfort, Shion’s voice returns, light and joking, to soothe his nerves, “By which, I mean, thank you for pinpointing my personality in such a inelegant way. It means a lot, coming from a master such as yourself.”

         Nezumi’s aware Shion’s only mocking him to make him feel less awkward about being thanked so suddenly. He’s almost annoyed by his vaguely-insulting kindness, but the ridiculous nature of their situation, as well as Shion’s strategy of _calling Nezumi a dick_ _to **relax** him_ amuses him off enough to play along. He responds with his best impression of the elderly librarian who worked the morning shift and pretends to wipe a tear from his eye, speaking wistfully.

        “You really have learned quickly, my student. I’m proud of you. Use your newfound abilities wisely, and never forget where you began.” The temptation to ruffle Shion’s beanie-covered hair as he performs surprises Nezumi. He writes it off as getting too into character. 

         Shion’s quiet laughter returns, joyful and clear, the grin on his face showing how unabashedly impressed he is by Nezumi’s imitation. Warmth fills Nezumi’s chest and spreads to the tips of his fingers. Shion’s laugh is contagious and he finds himself chuckling alongside him. The tension in the car almost completely gone, Shion makes eye contact and opens his mouth, eyes filled with contentment, “You—“

         Shion pauses, swallowing a little, something seems to change on his face and Nezumi feels him put a couple of walls up. Confused, Nezumi’s about to call him out  when Shion asks again, voice a little firmer. “Why did we pull over?” He’s facing Nezumi now watching him carefully, eyes gentle, but his arms are crossed.

         Nezumi shoots him a look, not pressing the issue. “I wanted to see the view.” Without waiting for Shion’s response he opens the car door and steps outside. To his relief, the temperature has cooled slightly. It’s still too hot to really be comfortable, but it’s not miserable. Nezumi tentatively brushes the top of the car. Warm, but not scalding. He smiles, leaning against the side of the car. He feels the driver’s side door open and the subsequent thump of the door shutting behind Shion. He walks around the car, taking the spot next to Nezumi, looking at the field around them curiously. He doesn’t lean against the car opting instead to stand a few inches away from the side of the vehicle. He hears Shion’s soft inhale when he sees how clear the sky is.

         The amber of the sky has faded, replaced with a dusty grey dissolving into a deep pinkish orange. Dark blue-brown clouds float loosely around the setting sun. Nezumi walks a lap around the car, stretching his legs, Shion follows suit, except  walking the opposite direction. They look stupidly choreographed, walking in opposing circles, but Nezumi can’t bring himself to care. He comes to a stop at the front of the car and hears Shion whisper next to him with barely concealed awe,

          “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Nezumi can’t hold back a smile, “Actually, you did, about 15 minutes ago, when you were driving.”

Shion tenses a bit, “I was focused on other things—“

“—Like your mechanical lover, I understand. Relationships can be so complicated. One minute they’re on course, the next minute they’re recalculating.” Nezumi shakes his head pityingly.

        Shion is quiet for a moment. Nezumi feels a momentary tug of panic when he sees how serious Shion’s face is. Did he hurt his feelings? Nezumi opens his mouth to probe a little before apologizing but Shion suddenly breaks into a grin, taking a few steps forward. “I think I’d like to stretch my legs a bit more, would you like to join me?”

         Nezumi nods, mumbling something halfhearted about a buddy system, and lets Shion lead him around the farmland in excited circles. The land itself is nothing to be deeply impressed by, filled with overgrown grass and weeds sprouting up at random intervals. Shion seems fascinated however, walking along a beaten track of yellowed grass and dirt, trampled a long while back by what seems to have been some sort of wheeled vehicle, judging by the matching line a couple of feet from it. Clearly, Shion hasn’t been the first to have the idea to drive up here.

         Occasionally a car will whoosh by, and the sounds of an unfamiliar engine will break the quiet. Nezumi feels a little self-conscious, standing out in the middle of a field, but Shion doesn't seem to notice. He speaks without looking back at Nezumi, his gaze fixed on the slowly darkening sky. “Do you think we’ll get to see the stars?” 

 “Some, maybe. Light pollution being what it is, it’ll be far from a show,” Nezumi smiles a little, voice soft. “But once we get farther out, we’ll definitely see a lot more.”

         “There’s so much out here.” Shion looks up again, Nezumi wonders if he’s waiting for the stars to come out. The sky’s a soft purple now, it won’t be long before it gets hard to see. They should head back soon.

         "People could never make something like this." Nezumi almost jumps at Shion's sudden comment. He clears his throat to recover and nods slowly.

          “Yeah. Makes it more incredible, doesn’t it?”

Shion offers a vague sort of grin, “I wonder though, how long it will be before they start trying to?”

“Make a new sky?” Nezumi snorts, “Is that a goal of yours, Shion? If it is I’m afraid we’re going to have to have a serious talk.”

         Shion shakes his head. “Never.” His voice is serious, “Too many people are trying to change what’s already right. I’m not against optimization but too often it means losing this view in order to hand craft something _worse_ , and for what?”

         “Bragging rights, cock-measuring, or money. “ Nezumi asserts coldly, “Isn’t it always? The fatal goals of humanity, really. You think you’re above them?”

         “Probably not,” Shion, confesses, hanging his head a little. Nezumi’s impressed by his honesty, the resolve in his voice almost startling. “But I think this is view is enough. It’s not a starting point or an end point for something more. It’s just beautiful, and that’s enough.”

         Nezumi watches Shion for a few seconds before quietly mumbling, “I agree.” 

         Shion perks up at his comment and Nezumi can’t help but elbow him gently, “It’s getting late, we should start heading back—but first, Shion can I ask you something?”

         “Y-yeah.” Shion’s hand impulsively goes to the back of his neck, tugging at the bottom of his beanie. Nezumi watches the motion carefully, wondering if it’s a nervous habit.

         “You have a really bad habit of stifling yourself, you know that?”

Shion sighs, continuing his fiddling. “Is that the question?”

“It leads into it.” Nezumi elaborates, “Earlier on this fine evening, we shared a moment in the car after my magnificent impression, and you started to say something and trailed off. I want to know what you were going to say to me then.”

Shion seems dumbfounded, hand immediately dropping from his hat. “That’s it?”

         “Do you want me to ask something else Shion?” Nezumi feels strangely victorious at having brought a stop to Shion’s fidgeting.

Shion shakes his head, straightening up before mumbling, “Not really.”

“Then that’s all I’ll ask.” Nezumi clarifies, pleased with himself. Shion looks at him, some of the tension draining out of his body, replaced with confusion. If Nezumi had a camera, he’d definitely snap a photo.

Shion’s forehead wrinkles in thought and it’s kind of cute if Nezumi’s being completely honest. “I don’t…” Shion stumbles a bit before suddenly lighting up in recognition, “I remember now!”

“Congratulations, what was it?” Nezumi asks.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” Shion says bluntly, and Nezumi chokes on air.

“Excuse me?”

Shion clarifies, “That’s what I was thinking. You made your impression, and you laughed at your own joke, or maybe it was my laughter that made you laugh, I don’t know. But I thought your laugh was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful laugh I’ve ever heard.”

 “You—can’t just say things like that.” Nezumi stares, dumbstruck.

Shion scratches his chin before replying. “Yes, I’ve been told that. Which is why I hesitated a little. I don’t omit things without reason, you know. It is true though.“

         Nezumi feels his face heat up, now immensely grateful for the newly granted cover of night. 

“Have I made you uncomfortable?” Shion asks, and Nezumi could punch him.

“Quite a bit.” Nezumi manages to sputter out, already walking ahead. He can pretty much feel Shion’s apology coming and he doubles around to flick Shion’s forehead and show he’s not really _that_ bothered.

         Shion jumps and lets out a startled “Hey!” in response. Something in the back of Nezumi’s head alerts him that he _would_ be bothered if anyone else had said something that ridiculous. But there’s something about how honestly Shion had complimented him that makes it stupendously difficult to really get irritated at him. An odd sort of powerlessness settles deep in Nezumi’s gut, and he feels momentarily sick.

         He quickly turns back around and walks ahead. It’s difficult to find the car in the darkness, but Nezumi is nothing if not determined to flee this particular situation. He blindly feels for the door and tugs it open, immediately clambering into the driver’s seat. Shion hesitates a moment, but climbs in the seat next to him. The first thing Nezumi does as driver is unplug the GPS and toss it in Shion’s lap, ignoring Shion’s irritated huff. 

Nezumi just laughs pointedly at him, tries to flip on the headlights, and then realizes he doesn’t have the keys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shion's having none of your power plays Nezumi.
> 
> As always, thank you very much Megucahomo for editing. You're super fly for putting up with my gratuitous adjectives.


	6. Adventurers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi needs to stop thinking the universe is out to get him and Shion needs to work on his knowledge of road trips.
> 
> Also known as: Timon of Athens Part 2 Electric Boogaloo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Megucahomo you are the light of my life for editing this.

            Nezumi feels like a moron. Getting flustered and haughty and making a grab for the wheel—when he didn’t even have the fucking keys. _Shit._ He’s just glad he had the decency not to say something too confident before taking the driver’s seat.

 He remembers laughing, though. And it _definitely_ was a condescending laugh. 

He hopes Shion didn’t pick up on it, but that’s unlikely. Shion’s shown he’s sharp and touchy-- there’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed. Nezumi bites down a sigh, suddenly hyper aware of the fact that he’s in _Shion’s_ car needing _Shion’s_ key for _Shion’s_ stupid, ill-advised, middle-of-the-year road trip, and just _how_ did he get wrapped up so thoroughly in this stranger?

Is he even a stranger anymore?

             Something slides across the dashboard, Nezumi glances up at the sound of metal harmlessly brushing against plastic. The object lands in his lap with a soft “ching”. The keys: connected by a plain silver key ring. He gapes at the keys and then at Shion, before thinking to replace the look of surprise on his face with something less _scandalous._

             But Shion isn’t even looking at him. Instead, he’s absorbed in the task of thoroughly scouring the inside of a small red bag. Nezumi momentarily wonders when he pulled the bag out of the trunk, but then realizes it was probably under his seat the whole time. He hears a zipper and watches Shion pull out a small rectangular device, and a book with a cover Nezumi can’t quite make out in the darkness.

            Shion proceeds to hook the device onto the cover of the book, and pushes a button on the side. The center of the device pops out, revealing a small blue light which floods the pages. He eagerly holds the glowing book up, smiling in a way that proudly screams ‘I came prepared!’ The only thing Nezumi can think of in response to his shining face is how Shion hadn’t noticed how frustrated he was.

            Here he was, expecting to have started a fight— and Shion hadn’t even picked up on the fact he was actually _trying_ to be a jerk. But no— Shion’s far too perceptive to not pick up on his discomfort—especially when he’d so easily done it before.

            Perhaps he’s just fighting through the tension himself, saving Nezumi the discomfort of apologizing because Nezumi’s actions were stupid, but didn’t bother him. In fact, that’s the likely answer. Shion waves the book a little, trying to get Nezumi’s attention but he’s still caught up in figuring out Shion’s actions.

            Because, if Shion’s really just ignoring a potential argument for the sake of maintaining peace in the car, he’s offering Nezumi a hell of a lot more kindness than he deserves—but that works against him. Really it only makes Nezumi feel like more of an asshole.

“Nezumi, I’m talking to you.” Shion mumbles, obviously annoyed. Nezumi feels guilt and gratefulness swirl around viciously in his gut.

            Shion’s still pointing at the book, and Nezumi catches a glimpse at the now-illuminated cover and fights the urge to cringe. “You brought fucking _Timon_?”

“Of course!” Shion flips open the play, seeming satisfied with Nezumi’s reaction. “You’re the one who bought it for me. I don’t understand why you’re complaining about my reading it.”

              “Because I don’t enjoy watching other people waste their time.” Nezumi scoffs as Shion blindly pats the door behind him, searching for the lock button. He succeeds in pressing it and leans lazily against the car door, pulling his knees up to on seat, attempting to get comfortable. He catches Nezumi’s gaze, and speaks casually. “Well, I suppose it’s good you won’t be watching me then. Since it’s your job to drive tonight. I’ll probably go to bed in a few hours.” 

“Wait, bed?” 

Shion nods, “Well, yes, I assume by taking my position as driver, you’re offering to take first shift.”

“Shifts?” He can’t be serious.

“Well, yes, of course. What else would we be doing? We’ll both take turns sleeping and just keep driving.”

             He nods to himself as if this is a completely ordinary decision. Nezumi’s unable to keep from cracking up. Shion’s eyes widen and he shuts the small book. He straightens up, eyebrows knitting together as his body tenses. He’s dumbfounded, Nezumi can tell, and that only makes him laugh harder.

“Nezumi!? Are you alright? Nezumi!” Shion raises a hand, concern slowly fading into annoyance as Nezumi’s laughter continues. “You…” His eyes narrow. Nezumi realizes he’s about to slap him. Nezumi abruptly stops laughing, holding up both his arms in defense.

“Hey, hey—! What are you planning to do with that hand?”

Shion lowers it, speaking a little quieter, voice slightly mocking. “I was going to hit you. I was concerned you had entered some sort of hysterical fit.”

“Don’t do that!”

“Then don’t laugh at me without explaining why.” Shion frowns. “It’s rude." 

‘So is hitting people!’ Nezumi wants to shout but he bites his tongue, trying to drag the conversation back to where it was.

“Sorry for laughing.” Shion crosses his arms, nodding at Nezumi to proceed, sated for the time being. “It was funny though—“ Shion’s eyes narrow again and Nezumi continues swiftly. “Do you have somewhere important to be, Shion?”

Shion’s eyebrows raise a little. “Not really, we never settled on a destination.”

“Then _why_ are you in such a hurry?”

Shion scratches his head, seeming to forget the beanie for a moment. He adjusts it. “I guess I just thought this is what people do on road trips.” 

“That’s the life of a trucker, Shion. Complete with imbibing life-endangering amounts of coffee and developing a permanent driver’s hunch. Let me be frank--” Nezumi stared at Shion, eyes serious, “-- _You_ are not a trucker, and neither am I. I like beds, when they are available, and I fully intend to sleep in one tonight.”

“I thought—“ Shion frowns, face crinkling in thought, before offering Nezumi a slight nod. “Okay, then you’re in charge of finding the hotel for tonight. We’ll rotate on that duty too.”

“Fair enough.” Nezumi plugs the keys into the ignition, revs the car up and focuses on moving the car off the field. He hears Shion chuckle next to him.

            “What is it, now?”

“Oh, I’m just surprised, I thought you’d be more frugal.” Shion smiles at the terrible book as he speaks. Nezumi snorts.

“Frugality is one thing, willingness to throw away comfort without good reason is another. If you can be comfortable, why not allow it? Once in a while, something like this is fine. After all—“ Nezumi waves a hand dramatically, “--it’s for the sake of our grand adventure.”

“And do you intend to use the GPS on this grand adventure?” Shion points to of the GPS, sitting in the small space between them.

“Of course not. I’ve got a good sense of direction, you don’t have to worry.”

Nezumi doesn’t have to look at Shion to know he’s rolling his eyes. “And you say I’m ridiculous for wanting to sleep in the car.”

“Your sense of adventure is severely misplaced, Shion, you should get that checked out,” Nezumi deadpans, and Shion laughs a little. 

It’s not quite the most beautiful sound Nezumi’s ever heard, but he can’t think of anything better- so there’s that.

Nezumi feels himself smiling, an odd sort of joy bubbling out of him. He grins, Shion flips a page in his book, and they drive on.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Timon of Athens still belongs to Shakespeare and potentially was co-written by Thomas Middleton depending on who you ask-- so credit that as you will.


	7. Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one chapter where Tori makes a cameo and stuff happens.

            Nezumi practically saunters into the hotel lobby. It’s a decent place, more expensive-looking than he expected, with ornate carpets and half-asleep bellhops dressed in classic red and gold. Shion sleepily plods behind him, pulling his beanie down slightly.

“Impressed, Shion? From the countryside to--” Nezumi gesticulates proudly, walking backward in the general direction of the front desk. “--our humble nightly quarters, in just _two_ hours. No GPS needed.”

Shion yawns, still waking up. “It’s great Nezumi. Really.”

 “You could at least try to sound enthusiastic about it.”

“Remind me in the morning.” Shion mumbles, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. He stares vacantly at the man behind the desk, though he probably isn’t aware of it.

            The man in question seems miserable, obviously exhausted from having to work the night shift. He’s trying to smile but it comes out as an overworked grimace. When he thinks no one’s looking, Nezumi catches him eyeing his reflection in the polished wood of the desk. The name “Tori” is emblazoned on a small black and white nametag on his breast pocket--it’s been placed perfectly, he’s likely been adjusting it all night. He’s smoothing out his hair when he notices Shion is looking at him.   

            Nezumi watches him straighten out so quickly it’s almost comedic. Nezumi moves closer, resting an elbow on the desk. He digs around in his pocket for the cash they managed to produce, out of their combined wallets, for a room. He sets it in front of “Tori”, who’s shifting uncomfortably under the unintentional force of Shion’s gaze.

            “Good afternoon—er evening, gentlemen!” Tori seems to stumble over the words a little, attempting to sound enthusiastic but his eagerness only serves to reveal how he’s obviously still new at this. He shuffles some papers at the desk in a manner that Nezumi believes he thinks looks professional, but really just makes him look lost. He continues his shuffling, awkwardly still making eye contact with Shion. “I, um, like your beanie. It’s very…becoming.”           

            Shion smiles a little, vaguely recognizing he’s being spoken to. “Oh, thank you.”

            The two pathetically stare at each other for another 30 seconds; Tori waiting for Shion to speak, Shion trying to avoid nodding off while standing. Nezumi’s actually embarrassed _for_ them. He clears his throat and Tori jumps slightly.

            “One room, please. Whatever this buys.” 

            “Oh yes of course!” He looks at the rumpled wad of bills on the counter dubiously, and then turns back to Nezumi and Shion. “Just _one_ room, right?”

            Nezumi keeps his face the picture of confidence, but nervously hopes that they have enough. “Yeah.”

            They already decided to split the cost for a room, but since Shion hadn’t even anticipated hotel fees, it was cutting rather severely into his food budget.

            Tori meticulously counts and re-counts the bills. He sets them down and fixes his papers again, without looking up. He scratches his neck, opening his mouth and shutting it. Nezumi can feel him attempting to formulate a sentence. He’s about five seconds away from slapping the damn papers out of his hands, because really, get it together Tori-- communication should not be this _difficult--_ when Shion frowns, waking up a little.

            “Is it not enough?” He asks, voice quiet.

Tori has the decency to look apologetic. He shakes his head, finding his voice. “I’m sorry. The cheapest rooms here are at least three times this.”

Shion nods, obviously disappointed. “Well, I suppose there’s no getting out of it. Thank you very much for your help.”

            Nezumi fights the impulse to lay on the floor of the lobby in defeat. Haggling is something he’s familiar with but with prices that high-- no amount of batted eyelashes and half-assed flirting can fill that gap. How are they supposed to find another hotel now, and this late? Maybe they _should_ just sleep in the car. 

            “Um.” Tori pauses, catching their attention before they move too far, he’s shifting foot-to-foot again and Nezumi actively resists the urge to grab his shoulders and hold him still. He bites at his lip, looking over his shoulder before speaking, as though someone might be listening in. “I—shouldn’t really do this but. I…I mean you can stay. If you want.”

            Shion blinks. “But the pricing—“ 

“Ah, don’t worry about the pricing. People—“ Tori’s voice drops to a secretive whisper. “People fudge prices all the time and the rooms here are worth about half that so it’s fine.”

            Nezumi frowns suspiciously. Why is he doing this? But Tori isn’t looking at him, his gaze is centered entirely on _Shion_. Shion’s eyebrows draw together; face a bizarre cross between concern and pity. Tori adjusts his papers with newfound vigor. “Not that I’ve been fudging prices! I mean this is my first time so—“ He seems to be speaking honestly and Shion smiles a little, cutting him off with the firm kindness of a kindergarten teacher.

“Then that’s no reason to start lying now, is it?”

Tori looks guilty, he scratches at his neck nervously. “Well…”

            Shion nods, firing a look at Nezumi to show this is a point not to be argued. Nezumi rolls his eyes, there’s no way he’d accept a favor like that, anyway. There’s always a catch to these things.

            “It’s alright, Tori. We’ll find our way. You don’t have to worry about us.” Shion says as he reaches over and picks up the crumpled bills, sticking them into his pockets. He tugs Nezumi’s arm gently to fully pull him away from the desk and starts to turn, before pausing and adding. “Oh, and Tori?”

“Y-yes?” Tori stands at attention. Nezumi’s not sure whether to applaud or be a little disturbed by how quickly he’s been wrapped around Shion’s finger. 

“You probably shouldn’t be so willing to fudge prices for a stranger. It’s important to have respect for your work. You don’t seem like a dishonest person, so there’s no reason for you to become one. Please be more cautious in the future.”

            Tori actually gulps and bows his head in understanding. Shion smiles back at him kindly, giving him a little wave before leading Nezumi outside.

 

            “Harsh. You could have at least let him down gently.” Nezumi grins, elbowing Shion playfully as they make their way to the car parked in the adjacent lot. He lowers the pitch of his voice a little, imitating Shion as best he can. “ ‘ _Please be more cautious in the future.’_ So authoritative—I think you broke his heart.”

Shion lazily pushes at Nezumi’s elbow, which Nezumi lets give way easily. There’s no real venom behind the action, as he’s still chuckling a little at the startling accuracy of Nezumi’s impression. “It’s important. He could lose his job for that—he needs to understand the consequences of his actions.”

“I can’t argue with that—although, it’s really none of our business if he loses his job.”

“It is if we cause it. He didn’t seem like a bad person, he was just misguided.”

“Misguided people are capable of bad things, Shion.” Nezumi frowns, voice a little more serious then he intends for it to be.    

            “What about you then?” Shion asks, staring at Nezumi intently. Nezumi blinks, surprised by the sudden accusation and the bizarre hurt he feels from it. He quickly masks it but it’s too late and Shion’s eyes have widened with regret. He quickly clarifies. “I didn’t mean you were misguided! I just meant you had the chance to interject, but you stayed quiet. You must’ve agreed with me on some level.”

            Nezumi smiles to show there’s no harm done. “You really need to keep track of your logic leaps there. You’re leaving me behind. But, you’re right, I do agree with the outcome, but for different reasons.”

“Meaning?”

“To speak in economic terms, there’s no such thing as a free lunch, Shion.” 

Shion crosses his arms. “So you just didn’t trust him to keep his word.”

            “That’s correct. Never accept something for free, Shion, it’s just a bad idea.” Nezumi opens the car door, tempted to take the passenger’s seat, but remembers their agreement that he find the hotel tonight. He climbs into driver’s seat. He looks over at Shion, who’s buckling his seatbelt, to find him frowning.

“What is it?”

Shion stares at the dashboard, thoughtfully he mumbles softly. “Misguided people are capable of bad things.”

Nezumi watches him, grip on the wheel tightening. He keeps his voice even. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“And just now, you said that you don’t accept things for free.” Shion’s voice is quiet.

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “Astute observation.”

“I’m just thinking, it seems like it’s difficult for you to trust people.” Nezumi chuckles a little, but doesn’t answer. He plugs the keys into the ignition, hoping to get out of this conversation as quickly as possible, but a pale hand wraps around his own before he has the chance to turn them. He swallows.

“Why did you agree to come with me then, Nezumi?” Shion stares at him, Nezumi feels something akin to panic in the face of such a straightforward question. His stomach lurches, and he can’t meet Shion’s eyes. He looks at the road.

“What good will that information do? You don’t trust me, is that it?” Shion releases his hand, voice gentle.

“No, it’s not that. I trust you.” Nezumi knows this tone of voice, it’s the same, demeaning tone of voice he used for Tori. He clenches the wheel tighter, attempting to calm his anger. “I just want to get to kn—“

He lashes out. “ ‘Get to know me’? Why? Let’s say you actually do get to know me, then what will happen? What if you don’t like what you discover, and we have to call this whole thing off? Wouldn’t that be a fun day, going home when you still haven’t learned a single thing about yourself!” Nezumi turns to face Shion, glaring. “Maybe you should try and figure out some of your own shit before you try and solve other people’s problems!”

“I’m not trying to solve anything, Nezumi. I never said anything like that.”

Shion’s voice is steady and firm, but hurt passes across his face for a fleeting moment. Nezumi feels sick about having put it there. He looks back at the road, guilt pooling in his stomach, and watches Shion out of the corner of his eye. The hurt fades from Shion’s face, and his look turns more thoughtful.

“Nezumi.”

Nezumi is quiet, he releases his white knuckle grip on the wheel, but still doesn’t look at Shion. Shion tries again.

“Nezumi.” 

He turns, hesitantly facing him. Shion’s staring at him steadily, calm and understanding. He tries to swallow the knot in his throat, but Shion speaks and it only grows.

“I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. However, I—I still do want to get to know you better. And since we’re travelling together, I don’t think that’s completely out of line.” Nezumi tenses a bit. “I won’t force you to tell me anything, if you don’t want to. But I like you, and I want to get to know you, Nezumi. That’s the truth.”

Nezumi nods, slowly, the knot in his throat cut.

“It wasn’t fair of you to yell at me.” Shion adds voice a little firmer, and Nezumi nods again.

“I shouldn’t have.” He hesitates before saying it, but it’s the truth. He shouldn’t have yelled. He isn’t a child anymore. 

“It’s okay.” Shion adjusts his beanie, and leans back into the seat.

Nezumi turns the key, seeing no point in prolonging the conversation, and Shion opens Timon of Athens again.

Something still feels wrong about the silence that stretches between them.

Nezumi pauses a moment before hesitantly reaching out and flipping on the GPS. He looks at Shion, offering the small device.

“Can you find a hotel with this? A cheap one?”

Shion smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always. Thanks to Megucahomo for editing. And thank you everyone who has said nice things about this story thus far. It makes my day, really.
> 
> Tori is a super minor character in No. 6 Beyond.


	8. Nezumi does not get to sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi and Shion lose a dog and pull an all-nighter.

            The sun is rising; the GPS is ineffectually shouting out contradicting instructions, and Nezumi wants to punch through the windshield.

            He stares at the road in front of him and a white Kia passes by, headlights bright. They are the only two cars on the road. Nezumi feels a sudden, sick sense of camaraderie with the tiny square car. He’s actually kind of _touched_ by the fact they’re united in a mutual, lunatic mission to travel in the wee hours of the morning. He almost wants to wave at them, congratulate them for their efforts and _shit_ he needs a bed _right now._

            Shion sighs next to him, placing _Timon of Athens_ on top of his face in an attempt to cover against the glare from the white car’s headlights. He’s been napping off and on, the bastard.

            “At least it has use as a face mask.” Nezumi remarks: half to stay awake, half to prevent Shion from getting comfortable enough to fall asleep again. Shion snorts and waves his arm evasively. Nezumi laughs a little. “Was that supposed to be a response?”

            Shion removes the book from his face. “It was supposed to end your attempt at conversation. I’m tired.”

“Poor you.” Nezumi shakes his head. “It’s hard work, napping.”

“I seem to recall you _taking_ the driver’s seat.” Shion places Timon under the seat, straightening up. He reaches for the GPS, checking their progress. He blinks, staring at the area in front of them, and then looks back at the GPS questioningly. He does the same action twice more for good measure. “If you turn right, up ahead--we should be there.”

            “You don’t think it’s that…” Nezumi frowns, understanding Shion’s hesitance when he catches a glimpse at the sketchy building. It hardly looks like it’s capable of standing, much less serving as some form of shelter for the night.

“It couldn’t be anywhere else.” Shion’s frown rivals his own, but he tries to shake it off and offers Nezumi an ambivalent smile. “Well…  it’ll be cheap at least.”

            Nezumi nods, having stayed in his share of cheap rooms, but just the sight of this particular hotel screams ‘ _you won’t leave here alive’_ in loud, bloody letters. He pulls into the type of parking lot serial killers pray for, letting his eyes scan over cracked asphalt, bashed in streetlights, and dark sketchy street corners. He hears Shion unbuckle, and wearily climbs out of the car.

            It’s definitely cool outside now, the ungodly heat of the morning a distant memory. The entire morning feels distant-- like it happened some other day and possibly to someone else.  And now a new morning has started and Nezumi’s not ready to greet it. They’re sleeping in until noon, no questions asked.

            Shion adjusts his beanie and Nezumi frowns, wondering if he’s planning on sleeping in it. If he tries… that beanie’s going to have mysteriously vanished by the time he wakes up. Probably. He seems out of his element, eyes nervously flicking around the near-empty lot. Nezumi can’t help himself-- he nudges his shoulder.

“Don’t look so nervous. Are you looking to get mugged?”

            Shion tenses a little and shakes his head. Nezumi leads them up the sidewalk unsteadily. He stumbles slightly on an unexpected crack in the walkway. Shion raises an eyebrow and he can almost hear his sarcastic, ‘Do you need some help there?’ Nezumi huffs, only moving faster.

            He pretends to be interested in the chipped paint of the door to the hotel. Upon closer inspection, the entire ratty building seems to have at one point been painted some shade of seasick green. Nezumi eyes it disdainfully and crashes into a short figure walking out the door. “What the—“ 

 “Shit! What the hell’re you doing—“

            Something furry brushes past Nezumi’s leg. He hears a loud string of profanities and a strangled growl that vaguely resembles ‘grab him you idiot!’ He reaches out momentarily but the animal is already out of his reach. “Fuck, Shion, grab it!”

“Grab what—!?“ Shion stumbles, nearly tripping over the creature, a dog Nezumi now recognizes, as it runs between his legs. “Ah!” 

“Fuck!” The stranger barks out, roughly pushing past Nezumi and taking off after the animal.

            Shion, however, is faster. He chases after the brown dog as quickly as his legs will allow. Nezumi stands at the sidewalk a fraction of a second longer before speeding into the darkness after the both of them.

            He finds them at the curb. The stranger is hunched over, dejectedly resting their hands on their knees, staring out into the street. They’re panting, but their body is tense and still. Shion hesitantly rests a hand on their shoulder and they immediately push him off.

“This is your fault, you know! You could have caught him!”

Nezumi steps in. “The dog wasn’t our responsibility, you should’ve been holding onto the leash tighter. Don’t attack us for—“

Shion stops him, holding up a hand. “We’re sorry. We didn’t see you but that’s still no excuse. We’ll help you look for him, okay?”

            “Damn right, you’re helping me look. If you think you can just—” The figure is so angry they have to gather up air before finishing their sentence. “—try to walk into my _house_ and cause me to lose my dog without paying for it you’ve got another thing coming!”

            The homeowner glares steadily at both of them with surprisingly sharp brown eyes. Nezumi gets a decent look at the kid’s face. It’s difficult to tell their gender in the shadows, but their chest seems relatively flat. Their voice is low as well. Tentatively, Nezumi assumes him male. He has greasy hair tied into a high ponytail and smells like he’d benefit from a bath or twelve. Puberty seems to be smacking this kid in the face— at least in the weird body-odor department—they smell like a sick combination of dog and beef jerky. 

“Your house?” Shion asks, confused. “The GPS told us it was a hotel.”

“ _Was_ a hotel! The old man that ran the place kicked the bucket-- good riddance. It’s my place now.”

            Something surges in Nezumi’s gut at the heated ‘good riddance’ the kid delivers. He shoves it down, now isn’t the time to get upset. Shion seems to notice, judging by the way his eyes meet Nezumi’s curiously. Oddly, he doesn’t say anything, true to his word about not pressing.

            Thin fingers snap in his face, forcing his attention. “Don’t fuckin’ zone out on me! We’re going to find him!”

            Nezumi matches the asshole’s glare. He’s tempted to let him go after his damn dog alone, and he normally would—if it had escaped in any other way. However, this time, Nezumi actually _was_ somewhat responsible in the escape. It wouldn’t be fair to leave the kid to run after it alone.

            It doesn’t stop him from being pissed off about searching. He crosses his arms, begrudgingly, as Shion takes over, voice gentle. “Does the dog have a name? Do you?”

            The kid nibbles at his lip, shaking his head, “He’s new. I just found him the other day.” He looks impatiently down the street where the dog took off. “I’m Inukashi, just—fuck--meet me at the hotel if you catch him. Don’t you _dare_ run--this is your responsibility too!” His voice catches slightly, he’s panicking, but trying to keep calm to save face. Nezumi feels a momentary pang of guilt.

“We’ll definitely find him, Inukashi. Don’t worry.” Shion’s voice is so soothing Nezumi almost believes him. The dog-owner nods curtly.

“Be careful wandering around in the dark,” Nezumi adds, “You never know what you’re going to find.”

            Inukashi glares. “You should watch out too. A pretty face like that—“ He pauses. “Actually, no. Any creep would run as soon as you open your damn mouth.” Nezumi can _hear_ his nervousness as he runs off, kicking up dust on the road.

“Hear that, Shion? He thinks I’m pretty.”

            Shion rolls his eyes. “Please don’t act like you’ve never been called that before. We need to get going too.” He points at the fork in the road. “Neither of us were quick enough to see which road he took, so it’s possible he took the left path as well. We should look there first.”

Shion starts jogging and announces. “We should shout something out.”

“He doesn’t have a name. And are you trying to get the entire neighborhood to kill us?”

“He shouldn’t be too far. Dogs respond well to warm-sounding voices whether or not they’re called by their name. If you just speak warmly, he’ll probably come.”

Nezumi shakes his head. “I’ll leave the warmth to you Shion.”

Shion fires a look in his direction that could probably wither plants. “Nezumi, we need to find this dog.”

            Nezumi sighs before letting out a “Hey there!” half-heartedly, calling out to the dog in the darkness. Shion follows suit. At first it’s awkward, attempting to think of things to say, but eventually they settle on various iterations of “dog”.

They walk further around the neighborhood. A car drives past them and Shion frowns. “I really hope he’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too. I’d rather not have to pay for it.” Nezumi yawns, and Shion elbows him.

“Be respectful. That dog is important to Inukashi.”

            Nezumi sighs, calling out to the dog again. Shion shakes his head—all traces of nervousness gone from his body, replaced with iron determination. He walks confidentially over a pile of broken bottles stained with some sort of reddish liquid. Nezumi smiles a little, oddly proud of him for not asking if it’s blood. It isn’t—for the record.

            They circle the block five times--no dog in sight. When they arrive back at the hotel, it’s light outside. Nezumi’s tempted to scream, but he doesn’t. He is stronger than that.

            Inukashi’s standing in front of the door, arms crossed.

“Any luck?” Shion calls out. Inukashi shakes his head grimly.

“I think it’s time to cut our losses.” Nezumi frowns. “How much was the dog?”

“2 thousand dollars.” Inukashi practically growls. In the light, Nezumi can see faint tear tracks on his surprisingly round cheeks. He rubs his eyes with his sleeve, speaking roughly. “Pay up.” 

            Nezumi sighs, too tired to put up with this shit. “Look, that’s a lie, and I understand you’re upset but there’s no way in hell I’m paying that. I’m sorry.” He draws no enjoyment from kicking someone who’s obviously very sad but _2 thousand_? He saw the dog. That dog was not worth 2 thousand dollars. Maybe 5 bucks. 

“He was a stray, wasn’t he?” Shion speaks up, and Inukashi visibly winces. 

“So what?”

Nezumi clarifies. “So he was free.”

Inukashi almost hits him but Shion steps in front of him. His clenched fist lowers, but doesn’t loosen.

            Shion clears his throat. “I was _going_ to say, that if he was a stray, he probably knows his way around the area. It’s possible he’s just going to come back. I’m sorry Inukashi, I’ll find a way to—“

“To make up for it? You can’t. It won’t bring him back.” Inukashi’s sleeve is wet; he stares at it rather than Shion.

            Shion pauses, ashamed.

Nezumi watches him, trying to fight the apology working up through his throat. He already apologized once—it’s pointless to waste words and apologize again.

Shion seems to be of similar mind. He shuts his mouth and bows his head a little. Nezumi notices he reaches for his phone in his pocket, although his fingers barely brush it, before he looks back up at Inukashi. “I’m going to try and search some more. Nezumi you can rest in the car, or come with me.”

“Shion, we’ve already--”

            “I’m not giving up, there are still places we can look that are farther out. You don’t have to come with me. Get some sleep.” Shion’s voice is dripping with finality. Nezumi despairingly wonders where he pulled this determination from. Fuck beds, he’ll sleep in the car, he’s tired enough-- but he doesn’t want Shion travelling alone. He’ll probably be fine. Nezumi weighs how much he cares. 

Inukashi stands at the door, breathing in, before pointing at Shion. “Hang on, I’m coming with you. We’d better find him.”

            Shion nods, smiling reassuringly at Inukashi who quickly breaks eye contact, scratching his neck.

Nezumi sighs, hanging his head slightly, hands tied. “I’m coming too. You better have a plan for this Shion.” 

The look Shion fires at him, a sort of uncomfortable grin, does not inspire courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, two-parter here. I know you're waiting with bated breath. ...not really. But. Hey. 
> 
> Megucahomo you are grand-- thank you for editing.


	9. Trash talking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi, Shion, and Inukashi take a spin in a garbage truck.

            Crammed between Shion and a putrid-smelling garbage bag— _someone_ had fish last night—Nezumi questions all his life choices.

            Inukashi’s looking annoyingly comfortable, having set up a small barricade of heavier trash bags against the open back to keep them from rolling into the street. This can’t possibly be legal, or even _sanitary._

            “Quit complaining, and be glad the truck’s only been to a few houses. We can watch the road this way.” Inukashi gruffs, legs crossed, holding firmly onto his position between two bags. He peeks through the garbage wall, eyes on the pavement. Nezumi’s too tired to point out the fact that he hasn’t said a single word in complaint. Inukashi reaches out, brushing the top of one of the bags. “He’ll show up. He really loves to chase these things.”

            “That’s not very safe.” Shion says, legitimately concerned and Nezumi’s jaw drops a little.

            “This isn’t very safe!” He desperately points out, trying to keep some of the sleep-deprived confusion out of his voice. Inukashi shrugs. Shion just nods sagely, steadying himself by resting a hand Nezumi’s shoulder. He peeks over the stinking wall—checking to see if the dog is running after them.

            That’s the fucking plan: Ride in a _garbage truck_ , and hope the dog just _shows up_ to _pursue_ it _._ Written, patented, and openly offered by _fucking Inukashi._

            If they make it out of this alive, Nezumi’s suing someone. He’s not sure who yet, considering the fact he was tired enough to climb in this deathtrap himself, but someone’s going to pay through the nose for this.

            “Well, yes.” Shion speaks calmly as if he’s explaining some easy concept to a toddler. “But we’re _aware_ it’s dangerous. I can think of at least three health and safety codes this violates—but we’re choosing to be here. I don’t think your whining is very helpful Nezumi.”

            Inukashi grunts in agreement. “He’s worth it. And if we want to find him by tonight, this is the best way.”

Sufficiently ganged up on, Nezumi shuts up, disgruntled.

            “I just hope Getsuyaku doesn’t get in trouble, letting us ride in the back of his truck like this.”

            “With the amount of money we paid him, believe me, he’ll be fine. Garbage men aren’t exactly rolling in it.” Nezumi glares, having paid generously out of his hotel budget to sit in garbage truck run by a complete stranger who just so happened to be picking up trash outside of Inukashi’s home. What has his life come to? Bribing garbage workers? This is not how he wanted to spend this week..

            Worst of all, he’s _actually_ starting to adjust to the garbage smell. Man’s ability to adapt is a beautiful and scary thing. He rests his cheek against the salmon-bag and sighs, exhausted. “Wake me when you guys are ready to give up.”

            He shuts his eyes, able to feel Shion’s annoyed sigh due to their proximity. He dozes lightly, wrapping an arm around Shion’s waist in assurance that if he does actually nod off, he won’t slide around the truck. Shion seems to understand and doesn’t pull away.

            “Inukashi?” Shion’s whispering, not that Nezumi’s asleep yet, but he appreciates the effort.

            Inukashi snorts loudly in recognition, obviously not caring if he wakes Nezumi or not. Asshole. “What?”

“Do you take in a lot of strays?”

            Nezumi hears rustling, Inukashi’s probably adjusting, to get comfortable. “Yeah, I’ve got five right now. They’re hard to feed all the time, but it’s better than leaving them out to starve in the cold.”

            Shion hums softly in agreement. It’s silent and Nezumi thinks he’s finally going to get some rest when Inukashi speaks up again. He’s whispering this time.

            “This isn’t just about the dog you know. Though it’s family and gotta be protected.” Inukashi’s voice is surprisingly soft. Nezumi listens intently, surprised. He slows his breathing-- feigning sleep isn’t hard when he’s this exhausted.

“What is it about, then?”

Inukashi doesn’t speak for a while, Nezumi can almost sense the fact he’s being stared at. Shion shifts slightly.

            “There’s this kid. He’s like, four or something, now.” Inukashi speaks quietly, voice surprisingly fragile. “His parents don’t have a lot of money and his mom’s real sick—doesn’t have a lot of time left if you ask me— so they drop him off to stay with me sometimes. It’s a big hotel so…I don’t really mind.”

He feels Shion breathe in and nod. Inukashi’s quiet again. “What’s he like, Inukashi?”

            “He’s a real good kid. He understands the dogs, and he’s just real nice to them. That dog was his favorite, y’know.” Nezumi can almost hear the bitter smile in Inukashi’s voice. “I’m not a giving person, hell, I’m pretty much the opposite. But…I don’t wanna tell the kid that dog he likes so much is dead, you get me?”

            He feels Shion swallow before he speaks. “Is it just you in that hotel, Inukashi?”

“Yeah. The old man was there too—sometimes. He was worthless, even when he was alive. Saved my ass though, taught me where to get food, so I’m grateful, I guess. I’m fine though. I got the dogs, and the kid sometimes.”

            Nezumi shifts, not wanting to hear Inukashi continue. At Nezumi’s movement, Inukashi abruptly stops speaking. He looks back out through the garbage pile.

“I hope we find him, Inukashi.” Shion says, voice soft.

“Yeah, me too.”

            Nezumi sits up, removing his arm from Shion’s waist and placing it back on the metal floor of the massive trunk. Shion looks at him, offering him a slight smile. “Can’t sleep?”

Nezumi shakes his head. “Guess I’ll have to keep an eye out for the dog instead.”

Inukashi looks at him, surprised, but doesn’t say anything.

            The three of them take turns watching for any signs of animal activity. When he’s not on duty, Shion’s examining his phone. He’s not sending any messages, just staring at it. A photo, maybe?

            “What’s with the hat? It’s fucking hot out.” Inukashi blurts after a particularly long silence. Shion nearly chokes on his own tongue trying to reply.

“It, ah, saves me from answering a lot of questions.”

Inukashi doesn’t let him off the hook. “About?”

Shion gathers his composure, focusing on monitoring the street. “My hair.”

            “It natural?” Inukashi seems genuinely fascinated, trying to catch a peek. Shion scratches his neck uncomfortably.

“Sort of. It—“ Shion abruptly cuts off, almost standing up but quickly thinking better of it.  “—Look!”

Nezumi does. “I’ll be damned…”

            The brown dog chases after the truck, Nezumi can tell in the light it’s obviously malnourished, probably intending to steal food. The red leash is still hanging around its neck. It’s definitely Inukashi’s stupid mutt.

Shion pulls out his phone, immediately calling Getsuyaku to tell him to pull over. Inukashi looks ready to leap out of the vehicle.

            The truck lurches a little as it comes to a messy stop. Nezumi feels Shion wrap an arm around him to steady himself, and Nezumi grabs Inukashi’s shoulder to stop him from rolling around too badly. He’s surprised to find it soft and thin.  

            He doesn’t have much time to think about his discovery, because Inukashi roughly pulls away and climbs over the bag pile. The dog seems to recognize him. It sits, as though expecting a treat, probably reacting to Inukashi’s more-rank-than-usual smell. A smell, Nezumi realizes with a grimace, he now shares.

            Inukashi’s arms are around the mutt faster than he can process, picking up the leash in a quick, desperate motion. He doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t need to, and the dog doesn’t pull away when Inukashi buries his face in its coarse fur.

            Shion still has an arm around his shoulders. Nezumi shifts a little to point out this fact, not that he’s bothered by it. Shion retracts his arm, apologizing.

            Nezumi hesitates before ruffling Shion’s beanie-clad hair. “It’s fine. You did a good job.”

            He means it. Shion’s cheeks turn a little pink at the praise and he smiles easily before fixing the beanie, now a little loose on his head.

“Not that I had a lot of help from you.” Shion offers, playfully.

Nezumi takes the bait, but smiles a little. “Yeah, well, you handled this one fine on your own.”

            “No, I think this one was all Inukashi.” Shion watches Inukashi mumble something to the dog--it licks his ear and he laughs a little. “I think that little kid’s good for him.”

“You knew I was listening?”

“I figured it out.”

            Inukashi turns back to face them, finally pulling away a little from the happily panting dog. He’s smiling, a lopsided, toothy grin, but there’s something entirely sincere about it. Shion’s clapping and Nezumi grins too, oddly proud of having had some part in this reunion, bizarre though it was.

But if this escapade didn’t earn them a free hotel room, he’s going to climb back in the garbage truck and never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ride in the back of a garbage truck. Just don't do it. It's not safe and could potentially get you killed. It's not worth it. 
> 
> It's just not worth it.
> 
> Thanks to Megucahomo for editing.


	10. Sleeping Arrangements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introspective showering and more!

           _There’s a mouse in the shower_. It’s halfheartedly pawing at the drain, probably having recently chased something down there.

Nezumi’s not even surprised. 

            Naked, tired, and having surpassed all caring, he turns on the water without even blinking. The mouse scurries out of the shower with impressive speed. Good.

            Inukashi still made them pay for the shitty room—half price because it was ‘half their fault the dog was lost in the first place’.  Nezumi could have killed him, but then who would take care of the dog? He better have gotten in that garbage truck for a reason. He and Shion split the cost, and Nezumi steals the shower. It consoles him somewhat. 

            He rests his forehead against the decrepit tile, shivering. The water is freezing. He’s not sure what he was expecting; nothing really seems to have gone according to plan today. He soaps up his hair with some expensive shampoo he borrowed, with no intention of returning, from the school dressing room. 

            His hair, at least, will look impeccable. Even if the rest of his life refuses to follow suit.

            Nezumi sighs deeply, grabbing a bar of soap jammed awkwardly in the corner of the shower. It smells like dog and he tries not to think too hard about that. He lathers it on with ease, leaning back into the downpour.

            The skin on his back throbs dully when it comes in contact with the water. He fights the natural impulse to jerk away and rinses off the rest of his body. The scar is old now, the occasional jolt of pain is rare but easily managed—Nezumi attempts to ignore it. There’s nothing that could have been done. 

            There’s no one to hate. The rage of his youth, the ferocity in which he pursued directionless vengeance, and all his soul-searching in high school— it all culminated in that one answer.There was no one he could hate for what happened without hating absolutely everyone, including himself. But he can’t forget.

            He thinks of Gran and feels like a child again, spending endless hours in between massive, dusty bookshelves to avoid listening to another rage-driven story. Everything about her is so vivid; images pierce his skull in sharp bursts: her straw-textured gray hair and wrinkled skin, her rare smiles, her cold eyes. He reaches to brush the tears away from her cheek in the middle of the night but his hands are too small, too weak, too fumbling to reach her face.

            He tries so hard not to remember, but she made sure he’d never forget.

            Nezumi mentally repeats every monologue he’s ever memorized and then runs through his day moment-by-moment to distract himself from the memories digging into his brain. They pool behind his eyes, soak into in his chest, and burn his throat.

He isn’t in that house anymore. He refuses to be.

            He thinks of Shion, and the field they watched the sunset in. He thinks of that awful beanie and questionably-purple eyes and the damn GPS. He thinks of Inukashi and the stupid dog, and tries to piece together a loose image of what the visiting kid would look like in his head. He thinks of Shion again, sitting on the hotel bed probably waiting for him to get out of the shower.

            He breathes in, and breathes out. He shivers and feels the cool water and it’s _so cold_ but that means he didn’t burn. It’s only sleep deprivation, making him feel so small again. Nezumi knows this.

He’s okay, slowly. He carries on. 

            When Nezumi’s satisfied he no longer smells like fish, rotten cabbage, or any sick combination of the two, he steps out of the shower. He dries off, slipping on some underwear and a pajama shirt— pants optional at this point. He attempts to shake his hair dry and throws open the door.

            “I’ll tell her, I know, you’re right…”

Shion has his beanie off. He’s facing away from the bathroom door, on the phone. Nezumi can’t see his face but he can see his hair— pure white and reflecting the moonlight that slips through the open curtains. For a moment Nezumi’s struck by how stunning _Shion_ looks—almost otherworldly. Nezumi only sees him in silhouette, but the light shines around his hair forming a halo of sorts. He swallows and almost says something stupid and complementary, but Shion shuts the curtains and the moonlight immediately stops working its magic. Nezumi once again falls back into harsh, frizzy, reality.

            Shion’s hair, although lovely, is practically pasted to the top of his head with sweat. The sides, which, Nezumi guesses, are supposed to hang loosely are instead glued firmly to his cheeks. He has countless random fly-aways that stick up at odd, unnatural angles, showing exactly which direction he pulled to get the beanie of his head. That’s what travelling in a tight hat for a day straight will do to you. He looks terrible.

            Shion presses his phone closer to his ear, still not noticing Nezumi standing at the bathroom door. “I— I was planning to I just— …yes, thank you. I’m okay.”

            His hand moves from the curtains to run through his mess of hat-hair. He musses it up as best he can, succeeding in getting rid of some of its flatness. It awkwardly sticks to his fingers in a losing combo of static and sweat. He wipes his hand on his pants. Nezumi can easily imagine the face he’s making: a combination of disgust and exhaustion. 

            The color really is _incredible_ though. Nezumi can’t help but wonder what it looks like dry and without interference. 

            “Thank you Mom. I love you too.” Shion’s voice is sweet, but dripping with stress.

He rubs his forehead, turning around— Nezumi assumes— to rest his back against the wall. He freezes mid-turn, staring at Nezumi as if he’s just been caught smuggling some sort of illicit substance. His eyes immediately flick to his beanie, sitting on the rickety dresser. His thumb slides across the touch screen on his phone automatically, hanging up. He sets the phone down, quickly reaching for his hat.

            “Are you really going to put it back on? It’s a little pointless now, isn’t it?”

Shion’s hand falls. “That is true.”

            “Hey, it’s fine.” Nezumi does his best to smile, but Shion’s clearly avoiding his gaze and that bothers him more than he’d like. He clears his throat loudly, and Shion looks up. “Look, I won’t ask why alright? You clearly don’t want to talk about it.”

            Shion scratches his head, blinking. “Oh no, it’s not that. I was planning on warning you. Before you saw, you know.” He motions to his hair, looking nervously at Nezumi’s chest. “I don’t sleep in the hat after all. I just…” He trails off.

“Just what?”

            Shion quickly looks back out toward the window, brow furrowed. He wrings his hands. “I just was _really_ hoping to explain it when I was more awake and you were --”

            “Then wait to tell me. No one’s forcing you to talk about your hair, jeez. How obsessed do you think I am?” Nezumi laughs a little, walking past him to check out the bed. He watches Shion, or more accurately, Shion’s hair out of the corner of his eye. It practically glows. He sits on the mattress, it’s pretty hard, but comfortable enough. He bounces on it once curiously.

Shion’s staring at him. Nezumi lays down, not bothering to pull up the covers. “Don’t explain for my sake, if you don’t feel like it. _Do_ go shower though, you reek.”

Shion doesn’t move. Nezumi looks at him. “What is it?”

“I didn’t expect you to say that.” Shion scratches his neck. “I thought this would…”

            “Matter to me? Change something? I’m curious, but I doubt it changes anything.” Nezumi shuts his eyes and hears Shion cough into his sleeve. Nezumi is content to sleep, and Shion doesn’t try to speak again. He curls up and starts to nod off, assuming Shion left to shower.

“Nezumi?” Shion’s voice startles him awake. Nezumi groans, burying his face in his pillow.

“What _now_?”

            “We’re sharing the bed aren’t we?” Nezumi looks up at him, Shion’s gaze is steady and unapologetic. He’s holding a pair of stupid ass matchy-matchy blue pajamas close to his chest. He still smells like fish.

“Yes. Don’t start acting bashful now, we agreed to this at the first hotel, it saves money.”

“It’s not that.” Shion clears his throat, but doesn’t make any moves to say anything. He only stares at the edge of the bed.

“Spit it out, or shower Shion! Or do you need some tips on your personal hair-care routine? Let me fuckin’ sleep!” Nezumi snaps.

            “Could you please put on some pants?”

Nezumi blinks. Tries to read Shion’s face-- surprisingly blank for such a ridiculous question. He’s probably joking. Probably.

            “What, afraid you won’t be able to keep your hands off me?” Nezumi teases slightly, lying back down. He can’t believe Shion woke him up for this. 

Shion quickly turns to face the bathroom. His hand goes to his hair and he scratches it awkwardly. “I have better self control than that.”

            His ears are red and Nezumi _really_ wishes he didn’t notice that.

Shion’s chuckle is forced and uncomfortable. “I am going to shower now.”

            Rushing into the bathroom with alarming speed, Shion loudly shuts bathroom door behind him. Nezumi stares at it, denying the blush slowly forming on his own cheeks. He stands up and grabs a pair of pajama pants. He slips them on and curls up on his half of the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Megucahomo for editing.


	11. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi wakes up to an unexpected sight.

            The sun is lightly shining through the shitty curtains and Nezumi wakes up to a barricade.

            He expects to roll over and see Shion, but he’s greeted with a face full of white pillows. Brain still not quite at full processing speed, Nezumi stares at them dumbly. They form a soft wall between them, splitting the bed straight down the middle. A pillow at the top of the stack seems precariously close to falling off.

            Curiously, Nezumi prods at it with his finger-- it tumbles over. A wrathful growl is unleashed from the other side of the bed. Shion sits up sharply and adjusts the fluffy blockade with disturbing intensity.

“Shion, what the hell?” 

            Nezumi knew last night was awkward but Shion shouldn’t need a literal wall to keep from jumping his bones. He hopes. 

            Unwillingly, Nezumi recalls the slow, hesitant way Shion had crawled under the covers last night-- as if trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. He now knows exactly how Shion likes to curl up only using one pillow, and that he barely moves at all in his sleep save for his steady soft breaths. He knows how Shion’s breath felt on his neck—light and gentle. It was disturbing how easy it was to fall asleep beside him, even though he was uncertain of his feelings. 

Maybe he needed the wall more than Shion.

Nezumi swallows at the thought and Shion thumps him with a pillow.

            “I’d ask how you slept but I know the answer to that.” Shion looks downright unhinged, white hair disheveled and tangled miserably. There are bags under his eyes. Nezumi stares.

            “I’d ask the same, but you’re doing a pretty good job of making that clear with the pillow wall. Not to mention your…” Nezumi trails off, gesturing to Shion’s face in general.

“It was a shield. For my protection.” Shion glares, smoothing his hair as best he can.

            “You know…” Nezumi smiles playfully. “You could have just used the shower, the water’s cold enough.” Shion’s ears redden again. Nezumi pats his shoulder pityingly and Shion halfheartedly pushes his hand away, glaring.

“A shower wouldn’t help that situation-- that doesn’t even make sense.” Shion corrects him, slowly sitting up. Nezumi laughs, shaking his head.

“Well it would be a quick way to keep _yourself_ clean and your socks safe.”

Shion stares at him for a few seconds, gaping. “That’s…not what happened.”

“It would have let you get some sleep.”

“It wasn’t like that—Hey!“ Shion tries to hit him with the pillow again and Nezumi laughs harder, catching it easily.

            “Shion, relax.” Nezumi taunts, grin spreading. Why is he provoking him like this? He was planning on letting the subject drop but Shion’s face is only getting redder and that only serves to egg him on further. The desire to continue teasing him until that blush spreads down his neck is almost overwhelming, but why? Something vague in Nezumi’s mind warns him to stop now before things can escalate.

            Nezumi drops the pillow quickly and stands up. He has to put some space between them. It’s better this way. Shion looks at the fallen pillow for a moment before turning away to reach under the bed. He pulls out his bag and roots though the clothes inside. “You could have warned me about your kicking, you know.”

            Nezumi stretches lazily, catching a glimpse at the clock: 4:40 AM. After an all-nighter like theirs, it’s not surprising. “What?”

            “Your kicking. In the middle of the night.” Shion gathers up a plain grey t-shirt and jeans. He folds them in his arms before clarifying. “Repeatedly.”

            Nezumi almost winces but forces a smile instead. “Ah, and the true reason behind the pillow wall is revealed.” Nezumi climbs out of bed, reaching for a shirt and pants.

“It was necessary.” Shion says firmly, but softens. “Did you have a nightmare?”

            “No.” Nezumi quickly answers struggling to keep his voice neutral. “I just kick in my sleep sometimes. I’m an active guy. Sorry about that.” He can’t remember if he had a dream last night and has no intention of remembering. Shion frowns slightly, walking over to the bathroom.

“It’s fine. “ He shuts the door behind him, once again keeping true to his word and not pressing. Nezumi hears the sound of an electric toothbrush.

            With Shion gone, Nezumi takes the opportunity to change clothes. He’s not ashamed of his scars, but he’s in no mood to explain them. It’s none of Shion’s business, after all. None of it is. 

            He spots Shion’s beanie sitting on the table and hesitantly picks it up. It’s itchy. He’s surprised to find it’s actually been knit meticulously. He kind of wants to throw it out the window.

“Safu knit it for me for my 17th birthday.” Shion’s behind him. Nezumi jumps, almost dropping it.

“Safu? Girlfriend of yours?”

            “My best friend. I was self-conscious about my hair, so she made it so I could cover it up if I wanted. Of course, she’s always telling me I need to stop relying on it.” Shion scratches his neck, smile simultaneously guilty and affectionate.

“Sounds like she’s got the right idea.” Nezumi spins the beanie on his finger. “You really need to stop hiding behind it.” 

            Shion looks away, moving across the room to repack his toothbrush. “I need to stop hiding in general,” he mumbles cryptically.

Nezumi raises an eyebrow, but Shion isn’t looking at him. 

“You should brush your teeth, Nezumi. We’ve got to get on the road.”

            Nezumi nods, still holding the beanie. “Are you going to wear this today?”

“Yes, of course.” 

Nezumi spins it on his finger again, thoughtfully. “I don’t think you should." 

            To his surprise, Shion laughs. “I knew you would say that.” He scratches his head. “Can I have a little time to think about it?”

“Do what you want, Shion, don’t ask my permission. I’m just sharing my opinion.”

            Shion seems a little startled but nods. “Right.” He sits on the bed and shuts his eyes, thinking. Nezumi sets the beanie beside him, and heads to the bathroom.

He hasn’t moved by the time Nezumi’s finished brushing his teeth and hair.

 “Well, Shion?”

            Shion pauses before opening his eyes. “I’ll wear it as we leave the hotel, but I’ll take it off in the car, later when it’s just us. “

Nezumi rolls his eyes. “All that thinking for that answer?”

Shion’s quiet, he stares at his socks. Nezumi sits beside him on the bed and squeezes his shoulder gently. “Well, it’s a start at least.”

            Shion slips his beanie back on and Nezumi can’t help but feel a little proud in the fact that it’s only temporary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College has begun so updates may be slower-- but it's still gonna keep going. c:  
> Thank you for editing Megucahomo!


	12. Nezumi struggles with thank you notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what it says on the tin...  
> ...  
> ...  
> and more.

            Shion, rather than make a quick exit as Nezumi wishes, sits on the bed in order to write a thank-you note to Inukashi for the musty, overpriced trap of a room.

“Really romantic, Shion. I’m sure Inukashi will appreciate the classic note-on-the pillow.”

            “We spent a lot of time together, a note is the least we can offer without a formal goodbye.” He shoots a glare at Nezumi. “And besides, I want to know how things go with the hotel in the future. Do you think he’ll open it up again?”

            “That’s up to him.” Nezumi shakes his head, walking over to the to the door. The paint has chipped off at the bottom-- the wood riddled with dozens of tiny pinprick indents. Nezumi imagines a puppy teething there. “If he’s got an iota of sense he’ll remodel and reopen it. It’s best not to sit on these things if they can make you money-- this place is shitty but it gets the job done.”

            Shion nods in agreement before holding up the note. “Do you want me to sign for you?”

“Put down, ‘thanks for making us pay after doing you a favor.’ “

            “You can write that yourself.” Shion laughs and offers him the note and pen. Nezumi notices their fingers brush lightly with the exchange. The note is simple. 

_Thank you for letting us stay in your hotel. Good luck!  –Shion_

            Next to Shion’s name is his phone number. Nezumi smiles a little. “You actually think he’ll call you?”

“I don’t know. But I’d like it if he did.”

            Nezumi looks Shion over, raising an eyebrow. “Really?”

“He seems…honest. I’d like to be friends.” Shion scratches his head.  “It’s strange. I’m not very sociable. But I thought I’d take this chance.”

            “Yeah? What’s put you in this risk-taking mood?” Nezumi asks curiously, looking at Shion’s meticulous handwriting. It reminds him of the note that started this mess in the first place—he feels his gaze soften slightly. Shion tilts his head a little, thinking. His eyes study Nezumi’s face for a moment and Nezumi fleetingly wonders if he’s going to pin his amateur social skills on him. 

            “I think it’s the travelling.” He announces confidently. It’s a surprisingly good answer and Nezumi’s impressed. 

            “Yeah?” He hums thoughtfully, twirling the pen in his hands. “Travel does help with thinking.”

“It’s humbling.” 

Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

            “It’s just so different than I thought it would be.” Shion speaks slowly. His whole body is alert-- bursting to express everything inside of him at once because words aren’t enough. He’s so… _open_. He struggles freely, comfortably—judging himself for his actions but never seeming to give up on his ideals. Just _why_ is he trying so hard?

            Shion licks his lips and tries to start up again. “The world-- all of it. It’s so big. I knew it was, of course, but… seeing it. It’s—“ His voice catches, vocabulary abandoning him.

“Indescribable.” Nezumi smiles wryly, bailing him out.

            Shion nods. “Indescribable. I thought I’d feel small, out here.” He pauses, looking at the bed. “But I don’t. Not at all. I feel…more than that somehow. Fuller. Like I’m finally a part of life and not just passing through.”

“Profound.” Nezumi snorts a little, writing under Shion’s heartfelt thank you.

_You should have the bed checked for fleas. Good luck. –Nezumi_

            Shion reads over his shoulder, frowning. “I’m being serious, Nezumi.” Of course he is. Nezumi swallows a sigh, exhausted despite having just woken up. There’s no reason for it. He kneads the back of his neck, attempting to rid himself of some of the tension there.

He breathes in. “Yeah, I know you are.”

            Nezumi focuses on scrawling his phone number next to Shion’s in the messiest way possible. 

“He won’t be able to read your number.” Shion remarks, looking at Nezumi’s purposefully unintelligible scrawl. 

            “It’s there, he’ll just probably call a few other people accidentally first.” He grins, smugly. Shion rolls his eyes.

            He turns around, feeling the bed behind him and is almost tempted to sit down. Shion’s gaze is entirely focused on his face, beanie still off. His hair is so _white_. Nezumi’s fascinated.

            He reaches up, ignoring the weird pang of hesitance and touches it. It’s softer than he imagined. Shion jumps, and Nezumi offers him a slightly guilty smile. “Sorry, I should have warned you.”

            He moves to retract his hand and Shion grabs it, suddenly holding it in place. Nezumi tenses, and Shion quickly releases his hand. “You can…keep feeling it if you want. I don’t mind. It’s…only hair.” 

            Nezumi shakes his wrist a little, surprised by Shion’s strength. Shion’s staring at the floor apologetically. He awkwardly bows his head to give Nezumi a good view of his hair.  It’s weird. The air between them feels heavy with the offer-- but who is Nezumi to refuse it.

            He reaches up, examining a longer strand, watching Shion to make sure he doesn’t tense. He’s perfectly still, gaze focused at the same spot on the carpet. It’s regular hair, it seems, just colored differently. But how?

            Nezumi straightens up to examine the roots of Shion’s hair. White. It really must be natural. He runs a hand through it carefully. It’s light and well-layered, it falls back into place as soon as Nezumi’s hand passes through it. Shion shuts his eyes. “Who cuts your hair? They’re good.”

“My mom.” 

            Shion says it with absolutely no shame, no regrets. As if every 20-year-old man typically receives haircuts from their mother. Nezumi cracks up—loudly and Shion’s eyes open. He straightens up and glares at the carpeting, quickly batting Nezumi’s hand away from his hair. “You just said she did a good job!”

            “I sure did—no one knows a boy’s hair like his mama.” Nezumi grins mockingly. Shion’s eyes narrow and he aims his glare at Nezumi instead of the floor, meeting his eyes easily. His hair is framing his face and his cheeks and ears are slightly red. His mouth is locked in a hard line and it’s actually—surprisingly, inexcusably— _attractive_.

Nezumi wants to kiss him. Badly. 

            Nezumi immediately breaks eye contact, heart racing in a way that’s not romantic in the slightest. It’s unpleasant and horrifying and uncomfortable and _where the hell did it come from?_ He’s terrified-- suddenly keenly aware of their proximity, the fact he’s loosely leaning against the bed and Shion’s unintentionally standing in front of him, a little too closely. He can feel Shion’s breath, make out every fleck of color in his eyes, notice every seam in his shirt, every line on his face. Why _now?_

This shouldn’t be happening.

            Shion’s watching him carefully, the concern in his eyes almost worse than the feeling clawing its way around Nezumi’s gut. “Nezumi?”

            He straightens up and smiles, and tries not to look at Shion’s lips, Shion’s hair, Shion’s eyes. “We should get moving if we want to be able to grab breakfast.” He moves quickly past Shion to the door.

            He hears Shion follow behind him, but doesn’t look back. They climb into the car, and drive in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Progress!  
> Happy Children's day everyone. This has nothing to do with children's day but hey.
> 
> I'm hoping to have a one-shot up for September 7th-- BUT...no promises since I'm still working on it. I hope this chapter will suffice.


	13. Getting away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi needs to get out of his head. Shion tries.

Nezumi’s aware he’s being moody, but he has no idea how to stop it. _Nothing_ at all has happened between them. Nothing even has to happen, and yet Nezumi’s irrationally pissed off and nervous at the sheer _potential_ of it all.

He doesn’t even _know_ him. They only met three—fuck was it even three— days ago.Shion has been honest enough, but Nezumi doesn’t know nearly enough about him to have his attraction founded on, well, _anything_.

Shion could be anyone, really. He always could, and that wasn’t a problem but now that Nezumi’s kind of feeling sort of curious about him it’s starting to become one. 

Nezumi suffered once-- he won’t suffer again. He has no intention of climbing aboard a train potentially right before it crashes. Travelling companion is one thing; Friends and lovers is another.

He forcibly quells the panic stirring up his gut and stares out the window.

It really is nothing. Shion probably has no idea what Nezumi’s been thinking, and he shouldn’t. It’s none of his business. This is a matter of the body. Shion may have triggered it, but _he_ has nothing to do with it.

It’s not as though Nezumi is a stranger to romantic impulses. He can transform his feelings easily-- Desire can be redirected into energy, and energy to motion. Rage can become beauty, if controlled enough. It’s not a coincidence Nezumi’s motions are graceful; they are trained; they are made-- that is performance.

“Are you hungry, Nezumi?”

Shion’s voice is falsely upbeat, aimed at Nezumi from the driver’s seat. He’s smiling a fake smile, obviously pretending they haven’t spent the last hour driving in tense silence. It pisses Nezumi off.

“No.” He tries to be as curt as possible to clarify the excruciatingly long lull in conversation is going to continue for an indefinite period of time. He’s not feeling ready to chat, yet.

The artificial smile rolls off Shion’s face. He stares at the road a moment before speaking, voice quiet and thoughtful. “I’m a little hungry, I think.”

Nezumi doesn’t bother replying. He unrolls his window and tries to get a better look at the sky. It’s a soft, almost creamy, shade of blue. The rush of air into the car blows Nezumi’s hair around his face. Shion sits up a little straighter, and Nezumi tries not to notice the way the wind brushes through his beanie-free hair.

Seeing Nezumi has no intention of replying, Shion continues. “I’m used to eating breakfast. My mother owns a bakery, you know, so I’ll often have bread or some sort of pastry for breakfast. Do you normally skip breakfast?”

Nezumi shrugs noncommittally. Shion persists. “Kids used to make fun of me for only bringing a loaf of bread for lunch too. But it was good bread—“

“Do you intend to talk about bread this entire trip? Because I’ve stopped listening.” Nezumi remarks, interrupting Shion, eying a line of hole-in-the-wall style bars.

The parking lots are empty. It’s not like anyone’s drinking this early—not in public--—anyway. Nezumi vaguely wonders if competition is a problem on this road.

“Nezumi.”

He feels Shion staring at him, but makes no move to speak again. There’s a ramshackle looking Waffle House awkwardly jammed between two of the empty bars. The screaming yellow of its sign feels extremely out of place in the neighborhood-like area.

“I’m going to pull over now.” Shion announces suddenly, flipping on his turn signal and fearlessly jerking the wheel to the right-- hurling the car into the nearest parking lot. The tires screech roughly at Shion’s abrupt turn and Nezumi frantically clutches onto the arms of his seat.

“Shi—on what the— _fuck_!”

“I could ask you the same thing.” Shion speaks firmly. He pulls beautifully into an open parking spot as if his half hazard turn never happened in the first place.

“That was fucking _dangerous_!”

“It wasn’t. I checked for any other cars, and my speed was still reasonable.” Shion says quickly, defending himself. 

“You can’t just pull shit like that!”

Shion watches Nezumi, eyes clear, Nezumi can’t find any remorse in them. Shion sighs. “I lost my temper.”

Nezumi notices his fists are clenched tightly around the wheel, even though the car isn’t moving. However, releasing his anger is more important than Shion’s personal issues.

“Yeah, _yeah_ you did! You can’t just pull shit like that without warning me what you’re doing!”

“Well, maybe you can stop acting like I’ve done something horrible to you simply by existing!” Shion raises his voice, calm mask cracking. “Have I offended you? Did I say something wrong, Nezumi? Is that why you’re acting this way? I don’t understand!”

Nezumi’s eyes narrow. “Mind your ego, Shion. This has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re wrong.” Shion glares at him, and Nezumi matches it. “This has everything to do with me. We are travelling _together_. If I’ve upset you—“

“You haven’t upset me! I don’t even know you!”

It comes out as a yell, echoing slightly in the almost empty car. Nezumi immediately regrets it.

Shion swallows, seeming to deflate slightly as he breaks eye contact. He releases the wheel and folds his hands in his lap, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to calm down. You have to as well, Nezumi.”

Nezumi opens his mouth, ready to argue. He swallows instead when Shion refuses to face him, staring at the dashboard of the car. His shoulders are tense, his entire body poised to attack. His eyes are shut, and he shifts uncomfortably, trying to relax.

Nezumi leans back into the seat. Resentment hits him in waves, twisted and furious.He forces it down, listening to the sound of Shion’s breathing beside him, and focuses on steadying his own. 

Several minutes pass before Nezumi is ready to face Shion again. He opens his eyes and finds he’s looking at his phone.

36 new text messages. Shion makes no moves to answer them and only looks at the screen.

“Who?” Nezumi asks quietly, and Shion smiles sadly. He plays with the phone in his hands a little before speaking.

“I didn’t tell Safu I was planning this road trip, even though she deserved to know. She probably would have come with us, too. It wasn’t intentional. I just knew I had to leave. I didn’t want to worry her, but it looks like I have.”

Nezumi nods slightly, carefully. Shion continues. “My mother—she thinks I should call her and she’s right, of course. I just…”

“Just?”

“I don’t know what to say. I felt—trapped. At that school. Somehow.” Shion stumbles slightly. “I never wanted to hurt her. It’s my fault I was expelled, but I think it bothers her. She knew I wasn’t satisfied there. ”

Nezumi watches him carefully, anger draining, as he looks at Shion’s tense shoulders, and the beanie shoved in the drink holder between them.

“I’m the last person who can criticize you about running away.” He starts lamely, staring at his shoes. Shion almost immediately straightens up, the shock barely hidden from his face. Nezumi tries to smile a little, almost wishing they could go back to fighting. Fighting made more sense than whatever he was trying to do now.

“What do you mean?” Shion prompts, when he notices Nezumi’s hesitance. 

“Sometimes you need to get away, and figure out yourself.” Nezumi tries not to think too hard about what he’s saying. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Shion asks gently and Nezumi looks out the window, scratching his neck. 

“Yeah.”

Shion shifts in his seat again. “Did you mean what you said, about not knowing me?”

Nezumi nods, slowly.

“Do you want to?”

Nezumi pauses, unsure. Shion waits and he nods again.

“I want to know you too.” He can hear a hint of embarrassment in Shion’s voice. “I know I told you that before.”

Nezumi chuckles weakly, uncomfortable.

“Yeah, yeah, you did.”

He faces Shion anyway. Shion smiles at him reassuringly before slumping over a little. He scratches his head.

“I’m just feeling my way through this. I don’t know if I’m making the right decisions or anything. I need to call and apologize to Safu, and I shouldn’t have pulled over so suddenly or yelled at you—“

Nezumi winces slightly. “I yelled too. And I was…caught up in my own thoughts. I shouldn’t have ignored you.” Shion nods, and the apology is clear between them.

Nezumi rubs his neck, looking at the Waffle House sign.

“You hungry?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally at Waffle House.


	14. The Waffle House Chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Quality time at the Waffle House.

         Nezumi walks into the motherfucking Waffle House like he owns the place.

         He is far from a stranger to the somehow comforting flickering fluorescents lights and dishwater smell that seem to be a mandatory component in any Waffle House. Yet the fascinated way in which Shion sits at the bar area-- curiously watching the cook scatter, smother, and chunk some hash browns like it’s the most incredible action he’s ever seen-- makes him an obvious outsider.

          “Watch yourself, the bar seats spin.” Nezumi points out, smiling vaguely as Shion curiously tests out his chair, turning it left and right with his feet. 

          “They do. I wasn’t aware restaurants still had rotating seats” 

          “Waffle House is a special case. First time?”

         Shion nods, and Nezumi suspiciously scans the 5 AM crowd. There’s a man in a lab coat lazily stirring his coffee in a corner booth, accompanied by a cranky-looking businessman checking his watch. A family with two children and an infant sit in an adjacent booth, obviously enjoying the road trip life, judging by the eldest daughter’s miserable, zombified stare at the window.

         There are no drunks, a rarity at this hour. Nezumi counts his blessings.  “Well, you came in on a good day, lucky you.”

         Shion beams, setting his phone on the counter as he looks at the menu. Nezumi’s almost tempted to pick it up and look through the messages. 

          “So you’re going to call her?” 

Shion swallows, immediately tensing. “Yes.”

          “Why are you hesitating?” Nezumi watches him carefully. “If you don’t want to contact her I’m not going to make you. 32 messages are a bit much, if you ask me.”

          “She has every right to be worried. The last time this…” Shion bites his lip, swallowing. “I’m going to call her.” He stands up, a new wave of determination finding its way into his voice.

          “Now?”

          “Yes. Now.” Shion confirms. “I’m going to head out to the car to call her. Will you be alright?” 

         Nezumi laughs.  “I’m among friends, fear not.”  Pointedly, he makes eye contact with the cook, who turns out to be a massively muscular man with scorpion and skull tattoos on his arms. Nezumi swallows, but the cook smiles and waves at him, perfectly friendly. Well that’s a pleasant surprise.

“I’ll be fine Shion, go make up with your girlfriend.” 

         Shion rolls his eyes and steps out. Nezumi orders himself a coffee and hash browns, snacking away. He digs in his wallet, checking his funds. Gas and hotel money stare back at him, but the small compartment he reserved for travel food is already disturbingly low, thanks to his generous bribe to Getsuyaku. Out of necessity, he quickly labels the coffee and hash browns “full meal” in his head.

         He orders the same for Shion, and watches as his hash browns grow cold. After 20 minutes, he has a couple bites of them because _really_ someone should enjoy them before they freeze over.

         A few more minutes pass and Nezumi struggles to find some entertainment.

         Konk, as the cook has been nicknamed, is surprisingly layered. He’s a large musical theatre fan but lacks a taste for subtlety. He seems to keep better track of the actresses in the shows than the shows themselves, Nezumi notices wearily. He makes breezy conversation as he traces the rim of his coffee cup with his finger.

         It isn’t long before he’s presented with a steaming plate of waffles, in exchange for his number. It certainly isn’t a _free_ breakfast, so he cordially accepts the offer.

         Shion opens the door smiling at Nezumi, but it’s unreadable. He quietly returns to his seat, still wearing his beanie, but his hair sticks up awkwardly underneath it. Static. He’s probably been scratching his head a lot, Nezumi reasons.

          “Hello.” Shion greets, as he looks at the cold, partially-eaten hash browns in front of him. He nibbles at them eagerly. The talk must have been hard on him, since he only notices few substantial bites taken out of them after a minute of hungry chewing. He frowns. “Did you eat these?”

         Nezumi feels a brief wave of guilt.

          “They were getting cold.” He defends, sipping his coffee. He attempts to seem casual as he gracefully slides one of his waffles onto Shion’s plate. Shion blinks, seeming to wake up at the action.

“I can’t afford—“

          “It’s fine, this time. We’ll call it a trade.” Nezumi smiles a little, trying to seem reassuring, but the feeling is strange and unfamiliar. Shion brightens nonetheless, face lighting up as he takes a bite of the waffle. 

“Wow…”

          “Good right? Food of the common people isn’t so bad as it turns out.” Nezumi watches Shion eat, not entirely sure why he feels proud that today the Waffle House delivered.

“I’ve had waffles before, Nezumi.”

         Nezumi holds up his hands. “I can never be sure. Waffles hardly count as bread, and that seems to be all you’ve ever eaten.”  Shion laughs, relaxing for the first time since he’s returned. 

          “So you _were_ listening to me in the car, if only partially.” Shion grins, popping another cut of waffle into his mouth.

          “I humbly apologize for mocking your bread-filled origins.” Nezumi spins his fork, lazily. Shion watches it spin, and both of them grow quiet. Nezumi speaks, hesitantly. “Do you want to talk, Shion?”

         Shion frowns, the fork slowly coming to a stop. “Maybe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nezumi sighs, rubbing his head.

          “I’ve been thinking, Nezumi, in the car. I had a lot of time for thinking, you know. I’m sure you did too.” Shion corrects his stumbling, looking away from the fork to Nezumi, eyes honest. “I really want to know you.”

          “That marks your third time telling me that.” Nezumi attempts to joke, but his heart isn’t in it.

          “I feel differently, every time I ask. Words just aren’t enough.” Shion frowns, cutting another chunk out of his waffle.

“History isn’t the sort of thing I enjoy talking about.”

         Shion smiles grimly. “Me neither.” He swallows another piece of waffle. “So do we just not talk about it? I wondered about that too. I’m happy just traveling with you Nezumi.”

          “Me too.” Nezumi agrees, hesitantly. It’s the truth, and there’s no point in hiding it.  Shion smiles, pleased by his confirmation. 

          “But I feel like I can’t keep our bargain.”

Nezumi freezes. “What?”

          “I can’t not press you for information. I just… want to know more. It’s greedy I know, but this isn’t enough for me.” Shion confesses. “I’m sorry.” He scratches his neck. “With most people, it’s more than enough just to know names, or majors, or interests but with you, it’s not enough somehow. I just—just want to know more.”

          “Shion, are you coming onto me?”

         Shion swallows, staring at his cold hash browns for a long, painful minute. He takes a deep breath.

          “Yes, I think I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffffffhanger. Trying to keep chapters the same relative size and this chunk would not allow it.
> 
> Sorry about the wait, friends.
> 
> Note: Konk is a minor character in the No. 6 novels and manga. 
> 
> Thanks Megucahomo, as always.


	15. Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fun at the Waffle House.

          Nezumi almost spits out his coffee but the chintzy part of his brain reminds him that refills cost a dollar. He swallows, painfully, before coughing messily into his arm. The round bar seat squeaks under Shion as he shifts uncomfortably.

           “That was a bit…forward of me.” Shion continues to stare unsettlingly into Nezumi’s eyes.

          _“Gee,_ was it?” Nezumi manages to choke out, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. He realizes he could have used the napkin on the table instead, but he’s got other things on his mind. “What the hell kind of pick-up technique was that? Where’d you learn to pull shit like that?”

          Hurt flickers across Shion’s face for a moment. “It wasn’t a technique. I don’t know the first thing about that.”

           “Trust me, you’ve made that _abundantly_ clear,” Nezumi grunts. He’s not angry, but he wishes he were. Shion’s seat screeches again and Nezumi refuses to face him. “You’re not the first to tell me something like that, you know. Not even the first today.” He swallows the bitter laugh bubbling in his throat and looks to Shion’s half-eaten waffle.

          “I don’t imagine I am. You’re very attractive.”

          Nezumi shuts his eyes and sighs at length, mundane awareness washing over him like tepid water. This again. He’s long grown used to comments about his appearance— be they casual remarks about his beauty or blatant propositions—but he never thought to hear one from Shion. It was foolish of him to think he was any different. 

           “Flattery will get you everywhere, except in my pants. Try something else,” he drawls, planning his exit. Redirecting this conversation shouldn’t be too difficult— if Shion’s looking for a quick lay he’ll probably quit after being rejected— he’s looking fragile enough already. Then they can go back on the road and things will be so perfectly awkward between them that maybe Shion will go home and Nezumi can keep moving forward. He won’t have to worry anymore—

           “I’m not _trying_ anything,” Shion voice is surprisingly stern; Nezumi smiles wryly and opens his eyes.

           “Revoking your flirtatious words already?” He turns to face him just as Shion is lowering his arm. He must have reached out to touch him but thought better of it. He’s learning—a terrifying thought. 

           “No—! Well, it’s not that—They weren’t flirtatious I’m just trying to— “ Shion swallows, taking a deep breath. “I didn’t mean to come across like that.”

           “Didn’t mean to be so _forward_ you mean? You can just say you want to fuck me, it’s fine.” Nezumi laughs meanly, feeling the discomfort radiating off his companion as the aspiring casanova fixes his beanie, staring at his feet. Who the hell does Shion think he is, refusing to meet his eyes in a situation like this?

           “Careful, don’t pull something in your paltry attempt to seduce me—” The way Shion flinches as he mocks him feels almost satisfying. Nezumi eagerly falls back into old habits, voice low and demeaning, “—of course, had I known this was your plan all along, I would have expected you to pay for all the gas, considering the fact I’m just here as arm candy.“

          Shion doesn’t take the bait.

           “You’re not taking me seriously,” he speaks coldly, mouth in a tight line. To his credit, Shion faces him, letting his pain show clearly in his eyes which stare guiltlessly into Nezumi’s. His eyebrows are drawn together forming a little crease between them. “You’re trying to hurt me to change the subject and that’s not fair.”

          He’s right. It isn’t fair. For a fleeting moment, Nezumi feels the sudden uncharacteristic impulse to either hide under the table or smooth the line between Shion’s eyebrows out with his fingers. He breaks eye contact instead, struggling to sound nonchalant. “Yeah I’m not the fairest guy, what can I say? I’m a poor choice in a pretty package, so sorry to disappoint you.”

           “I don’t believe that.” Shion’s intent is clear, his voice soft and inviting. Nezumi grabs his coffee and takes a sip, angry at himself for letting it cool for so long.

           “Nezumi, please look at me.” Nezumi can feel himself weaken and wonders where his spine ran off to during this sorry excuse for a conversation. He places his coffee on its lame little paper coaster and does as Shion commands.

          His Royal Forward-ness’s cheeks are a little red as he wipes a hand on his pants—probably has sweaty palms— but his eyes—his eyes remain as clear and passionate as ever. He smiles like he’s won something and it takes everything Nezumi has not to run away from his confidence.

           “What do you—“ Nezumi hates the way his voice sounds, raw and uncomfortable. Surprise registers on Shion’s face at the tone of it, and Nezumi quickly throws it for something more neutral sounding. “What do you want from me, Shion?”

           “I—“ Shion looks at him, and Nezumi can see him change his mind. “—I just want to get to know you better,” he says and it’s so different from what he _means_ that Nezumi wants to criticize and kiss him in equal measure.

           “Of course you do.” Nezumi mumbles and stirs his coffee. He studies Shion’s face a long moment, before sighing. “Prove it.”

           “What?”

          Nezumi grins, the confusion on Shion’s face far more welcome than whatever look was on it before. “Go on, woo me. _Make me_ sleep with you.”

          Shion chokes, and it is ever so satisfying. “I don’t—“

           “If you’re about to say you don’t know how—“

          Shion cuts him off with a hand, almost falling out of his seat as he grapples with his amateur knowledge of basic verbal communication. “That’s still not fair!”

           “How so?” Nezumi stifles a laugh when Shion opens his mouth and closes it, holding up a finger as a universal sign for ‘give me a second to let my brain catch up to this conversation’. He feels some of the tension between them drain, and it’s a welcome release. “Use your words, Shion,” he encourages, unhelpfully.

           “Do you think I’m that shallow?”

          Nezumi blinks, but gathers himself quickly. He manages a shrug.“You never know a person, and you barely know me. It’s not as though you have much to go off o—“

           “That’s it,” Shion interrupts. “That’s exactly the problem.”

          Nezumi raises an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

           “You’re still hiding so much from me. I’m trying to be honest with you and you aren’t sharing anything about yourself.” Shion realizes the accusatory nature of his statement and amends it.  “I’m figuring things out, slowly—not always about you but—about myself. And I don’t know. There’s just— Nezumi, there’s _so much_ I don’t know and I’m just operating on my best guesses based on your stimuli. It’s just… I don’t know how to know you, Nezumi.”

          Nezumi sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. Hard as Shion is on himself, his fumbling words always find a way to hit him, so he forces a reply. “My _stimuli_. Scientific of you.”

          Shion immediately picks up on his attempt at a dodge. He leans forward in his chair, eyes boring into Nezumi.

           “I’m feeling. I don’t know if I’m saying the right things or not because words aren’t enough anymore. But I’m feeling. More than I have in years in just a few days and—and I think that has to mean something.” He bites his lip, looking down at his shoes pressed against the base of the stool. He turns the seat a little with his feet before he looks up again.  Nezumi waits. “And I…I don’t think I’m wrong in saying that you’re feeling something too.”

           “There’s still an awful lot separating us, Shion.” Nezumi looks to the beanie on Shion’s head, fighting the urge to get up and leave. Shion shoots him an uncomfortable look, an odd sort of competitiveness in his eyes.

           “I said I’d explain, and I don’t wear it when I’m with you.”

           “You’re with me now.” Nezumi smiles, knowing he’s won by the way Shion looks away. It’s better this way, anyway. Strangers are easier. Strangers makes sen--

          Shion’s hand suddenly flies to the beanie, he tugs it off in a swift motion and attempts to smooth his hair with his other hand. The aggressiveness of the action causes a few heads to turn. Nezumi’s immediately aware of several curious pairs of eyes watching them. Shion smiles smugly and sets the beanie on the counter between them.

           “It’s your turn, Nezumi.”

          And the game is over.

          Nezumi laughs, an odd sort of helpless laugh, it echoes a little in the almost empty Waffle House, but what’s another pair of staring eyes to the pile, the only eyes that matter at this particular moment are filled with concern and locked with his. Nezumi takes a moment to look at the brown beanie sitting innocuously between them and goddammit, he _wants_.

           “Alright. Yes. Goddammit. Fine.” He accepts defeat gracefully and raises his hands in acquiescence.

           “What?” If Shion leans further out of his chair, he’s going to fall off. Nezumi gently pushes him back with a finger, a nervous smile on his face. Hesitantly, he brushes Shion’s hand with his own, it’s warm and surprisingly dry. He holds it, tangling their fingers, Shion stares at him, dumbfounded.

           “We’ll give it a shot. Going at a snail’s pace all right with you? Opening up isn’t much of a skill of mine.”  

          Shion squeezes his hand, and Nezumi knows it means yes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyy. 
> 
> Sorry about the wait-- life is a whirling vortex of busy-ness but I'm still gonna keep posting these when I can.
> 
> Thanks Megucahomo for editing. 
> 
> And thank you everyone who's read so far for your support, it means a lot.


	16. Signals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They finally leave the Waffle House.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this fic is still happening. It's always happening as long as I draw breath. Yes it is terribly late. Yes it is terribly short.
> 
> I hope to keep on a nicer schedule in the future!

         Shion practically engulfs the rest of his waffle and hash browns and Nezumi stares at their connected hands like they may burn him. They don’t, naturally, but the realization that Shion’s hands are slightly calloused rather than smooth like he’s imagined is certainly doing something sinister to his stomach.

         The cheap Waffle House silverware clinks as Shion continues eating one-handed. His struggle is probably entertaining, but Nezumi can’t risk looking up and starting a conversation so soon. Shion’s beanie sits lifelessly between their hands, mocking Nezumi’s silence.

         What is there to say, now?

         An hour ago Nezumi would have been able to face him and say something insignificant, wave his hand and complain aimlessly about the clouds cluttering the sky. But now the air around them is so disgustingly charged Nezumi probably couldn’t brush some salt off the table without both of them silently wondering if that had some sort of clandestine meaning. Stuck, Nezumi holds perfectly still and keeps his mind as blank as possible. 

         Shion takes the silence as an invitation to squeeze Nezumi’s frozen hand, before setting his fork down on his empty plate. Nezumi swallows.

         This is going to be a problem. 

          “Um, Nezumi,” Shion starts, voice a little higher than it should be. He clears his throat, likely trying to find the most polite way to ask what the hell is wrong with him— Nezumi of course will have no answer besides to express the fact that Shion’s hand is stupidly pleasant and he’s an idiot— “Your hand is warm.”

         It’s an obvious observation, really, but the quiet way Shion says it makes something in Nezumi’s cobweb-covered heart squirm around against his will. Luckily Konk silences the awkward conversation immediately by delivering the check.

         Nezumi could kiss him in relief but that might get him into trouble, as Konk takes one look at their intertwined hands and looks like he’s been robbed. Instead Nezumi makes half-apologetic eye contact and shrugs his shoulders. If heartbreak had a sound, it would be the empty ‘clink’ of Konk setting the check presenter in front of them. Nezumi has the decency to give the man a reasonable tip before quickly tugging Shion out the door.

         “What was that about?” Shion asks as he scans the now somewhat-occupied parking lot for the massive tan car. Nezumi tries ignore the relaxed way their hands swing between them as they walk together.

         “Seemed as though he wanted to join in, didn’t he?” Nezumi jokes noncommittally, as Shion focuses far too intently on his face.  “You’re staring again.”

Luckily, the car isn’t difficult to spot, now wedged between a red jeep and an ancient looking pick-up.

         “Does it bother you?” Shion frowns. “Me looking at you, I mean.”

         “Sometimes.” Nezumi answers honestly, dropping Shion’s hand in order to squeeze into the driver’s seat. He feels Shion climb in beside him and continues before Shion has the chance to protest. “It’s different than what I’m used to.”

         “People always stare at you.” 

         “Not like you, and not with eyes like yours.” Nezumi sighs, and shakes his head, thinking of the leering faces around his apartment building. “I’m a desirable guy in many ways, Shion.” 

         “You don’t think I look at you like that?” Shion sounds so surprised Nezumi chokes a little.

         “I don’t think you could, Shion.” He smiles a little but feels it drip off his face when he notices Shion’s downturned gaze. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m not so pure, Nezumi.” He mumbles, shoulders hunching. The guilt is clear in his voice.

         Nezumi tenses, cold fear clenching at his stomach. What had Shion done? He thinks back to Shion’s expulsion—he had been violent, yes, but protectively so. How could he have done something that would be... “What do you mean by that, Shion?”

         “My thoughts—” Shion clarifies, a faint blush on his cheeks. “Nezumi if you just knew what I thought of you, the things I’ve thought about you, you wouldn’t be calling me different.”

         Nezumi fights the urge to exhale all the breath in his lungs in relief. “That’s it?” he asks, carefully. “You haven’t hurt anyone or done anything they wouldn’t have—”

         Shion’s eyes widen at the suggestion, he straightens up in his seat almost immediately. “No—of course not! Never! I haven’t even—I mean, I’ve had offers but—I couldn’t even then.”

“Offers are different than—“ Nezumi starts to correct but catches himself. “Wait, you’ve had offers?”

         Shion opens his mouth and then closes it. He frowns, a little offended. “Yes I’ve had offers. Does that matter?”

“No of course not.” Nezumi isn’t entirely sure why he’s surprised— Shion’s not unattractive and he’s a generous person. He’s what most would consider a catch, even if he is slightly more forward than most.

“If you haven’t hurt anyone why are you so ashamed?”

         Shion frowns, folding the beanie in his hand and looking everywhere except Nezumi. “I’m a weak person, Nezumi. No different from anyone that’s ever looked at you just because you’re beautiful. I _want_ you as much as them and it’s not always for good reasons. I’m sorry." 

         “You really…are something.” Nezumi manages to get out, a strange almost-laugh bubbling up in his throat. Shion only looks at him, confusion written across his face so clearly that Nezumi feels awkward on his behalf. “It’s fine. Think whatever you want about me. That…doesn’t mean anything. Actually, the fact you asked kind of, well, shows you are different.”

         He shuts his eyes and groans softly because, really, who asks for permission for things like that— when he feels a warm hand brush his cheek. He jumps a little and the touch vanishes as quickly as it arrived, Shion looks out to the road.

“Sorry I thought—“ Shion shakes his head quickly and regret immediately fills Nezumi’s chest.

         “It’s fine.” He tries to cover. “I’m going to—start the car now.” Nezumi announces, and at his side, Shion nods.


	17. Living and Breathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi nearly crashes the car at least 11 times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter. Thank you for your patience!

         Shion ever-so-helpfully presses the GPS against the glass of the window as Nezumi drives forward.

         “Still no signal? I think it's time to give it up, Shion. You’ve lost this one to the sky,” Nezumi announces— pointing out the grey clouds coating the horizon.

  Shion only shakes his head. “I don’t know where I was going to send us to anyway.”

         “We’ve got time to figure that out. It’s about the way you get there, not _actually_ getting there. That’s road trip rule number one; once you arrive, it’s already over,” Nezumi remarks offhandedly— noticing the dull light shining through the clouds. It makes everything around them, the trees, the wildflowers, the shabby gas stations and cheap hotels blend together into a sort of natural continuity. Everything feels the same and it’s boring, but somehow comforting.

         It’s so nice to feel something is simple again. Perspective is a funny thing. Nezumi smiles to himself in quiet realization as Shion sets the GPS between them once more.

         “Do we?” Shion voice doesn’t waver, but it is considerably quieter. Nezumi glances at him in askance. He clarifies. “—have time? You have to get back to school, don’t you?”

         The disappointment in his voice is evident. It’s almost nice—the potential to be missed. Nezumi sort of wants to take his hand but it’s probably best to keep both hands on the wheel. He breathes in and out instead and the answer comes to him-- simple as the predictable road in front of them.

         “I’m thinking of taking a leave of absence,” Nezumi replies. Honestly, he’s impressed by the confidence of his answer, considering the fact he _technically_ just decided it. He almost falls out of his lane in order to relish the look of the pure shock on Shion’s face. “Your face will freeze like that,” he observes.

         Shion quickly shuts his mouth. “I didn’t— You never said that at the interviews,” he says cautiously. “When did you decide on this life-altering decision?”

         “About two minutes ago.”

         “Two minutes.” Shion frowns. “It was an impulsive response then.”

         “Which is precisely what makes it so honest— You’re upset.” Nezumi notes, surprised by the edge in Shion’s voice. “I thought you’d be happy. More time to travel together. Unless you’re trying to get rid of me sooner.“

         “It’s not that and you know it.” Shion’s voice is unexpectedly hard. “I don’t want that, though. Leaving school is a serious matter, Nezumi. You can’t just decide something like this out of impulse. It’s your life.”

         “Who was it that got expelled again? It’s a temporary leave, not forever.” Nezumi forces his attention back to the road ahead of them— lightning flashes in the distant clouds. “It’s not as though I haven’t considered it for a long time. I simply decided two minutes ago to make it a reality.”

Shion shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t like that Nezumi.”

         “Since when has my education become your primary conc—“

         “I don’t want you throwing away what you have to spend time with me. That’s not romantic, it’s foolish—“

         “—Shion this isn’t about you. Again. I really don’t think half as many things you think are about you are about you actually.”

         “What else would it be about?” The confidence in Shion’s voice almost makes Nezumi laugh.

         “How are you able to say things like that without sounding like a complete egomaniac? That’s a bit of a story, Shion.”

He’s sitting up so straight he reminds Nezumi a little bit of an overly enthusiastic prairie dog. “I’ll listen.”

         “I’m sure you will,” Nezumi sighs, remembering his promise to be more open. He looks out at the sparse traffic, debating taking the next exit just for the hell of it. “This road-trip was a good chance for me to avoid some of my issues.”

         “Which are?”

         “In a word…copious. In a couple more, really sad. But they’re my issues and it’s a waste of other people’s time and my own trying to get people involved with them.”

         “I don’t think it’s a waste." 

         “Thank you,” Nezumi says, fighting the withering look that so badly wants to creep onto his face. He takes the exit. “But that’s not my point-- my point is—“

         “You’ve thought this decision out fully and you’re not ready to share your reasons yet,” Shion interrupts. “But you’re trying and you will be ready eventually and when you are— you’ll tell me. Right?”

Nezumi scowls, feeling somewhat robbed of his own defense. “Yes, but when you word it like that I sound pathetic.”

         “You have your reasons,” Shion smiles— patting Nezumi’s knee lightly before pulling _Timon of Athens_ from the glove compartment and opening it without another word.

         Nezumi looks at him for a few seconds, before remembering he’s supposed to be driving and forcing his gaze back to the road again. The bizarre cocktail of guilt in his stomach surprises him.

         He focuses on the road as long as he can, hearing Shion turn page after page, occasionally making soft sounds of agreement or thought. He’s a vocal reader, Nezumi discovers. 

         A red car passes them by and Nezumi absentmindedly wonders if Shion’s just as vocal in bed. He blinks, once, thrown by the entirely unwanted thought that seems to have forced its way into his head against all appropriate judgment.

         He blames Shion for bringing it up. Sort of. Implying that his thoughts of Nezumi were less than pure— how is Nezumi supposed to handle that information? Really it’s only a small consolation that Shion’s been thinking the same things but that means they’re both having fantasies and something about that makes it even worse.

         Some traveling companions they make, mentally undressing each other at rest stops—

…at least, that’s what Nezumi figures they’re doing, hell if he knows what’s in Shion’s head.

         He tries to focus on the gravelly road, imagining what the slight drizzle of rain on the windshield would feel like under his fingertips instead of how good it would feel to have his fingers tangled in Shion’s—

Fuck. Rainwater. Yes.

         Shion flips another godforsaken page in _Timon of Athens_. He’s comfortably leaning against the door, the droplets of rain on the window casting freckle-like shadows on his face in the soft daylight.

Nezumi jerks his gaze back to the road before he gets them both killed.

This is wrong. He licks his lips. _Are we dating?_

         He wants to ask, but he keeps his mouth shut. If he asks, he damn well better be ready to hear the answer, and he’s the one who went and set a slow pace for this. His dick needs to catch up with his brain.

         Shion closes the play and for a horrifying second Nezumi thinks he’s actually going to speak, but instead he flips on the radio. Music fills the car, a gentle soothing melody that Nezumi wants to live in— it’s really not even in his taste but anywhere is looking more appealing than in this oversized hunk of metal. Shion smiles at him.

         “This okay?” he asks, strange eyes inquisitive.

         _Fuck,_ Nezumi thinks but he forces himself to smile back. “Yeah, it’s a good song.”

         He sings along and it feels like avoidance. They keep driving.

          They really should talk about Shion’s phone conversation, about whatever happened in Waffle House, about school, about whatever’s happening between them—these aren’t the sorts of things that can be ignored.

         Nezumi sings louder.

         “You have a nice voice.” Shion comments as the third song fades out. Nezumi quickly turns off the radio. He immediately regrets it when he realizes he still has nothing to say. He clears his throat and tries anyway.

         “How’s—” he has to grapple for the name a moment but he remembers. “—Safu?”

         It’s clearly an uncomfortable question because Shion laughs weakly at it. Nezumi wonders if he should’ve led into it more, and is about to offer Shion an out when he finally answers.

         “She’s strong. More than I deserve as always.” 

          “Bold words. You two have known each other for a long time, huh?” Nezumi smiles—trying to appear understanding and not desperate for more information like he is. He’s thankful that the light drizzle is turning into rain and he can flip on the windshield wipers just to keep his hands busy.  They are, miraculously, exactly where he expects them to be unlike everything else in this damn car.

         “Yes. She was the only friend that really stuck around.” Shion clears his throat, and Nezumi risks a glance at his profile— staring steadily at the windshield, eyes following the wipers as they slide sluggishly across the glass. Left-right. Left-right. “She’s graduating today, by the way.”

         What? Nezumi’s eyes impulsively flick back to the road. “She’s— I thought you were the same age?" 

         “We are. Her performance was exemplary and Safu was able to skip several grades— her graduating early has been expected for a number of years.” Shion’s voice remains a careful neutral, but he looks toward his phone with guilt. “I regret not being there to cheer for her, but she understood my reasons.”

         _That makes one of us_ , Nezumi thinks, trying to force down his curiosity. “It’s the first of many accolades, I’m sure,” he says, attempting to make his voice soothing but it comes across as patronizing before he can help it. “I actually meant that.”

         Shion chuckles lightly. “I’m sure. Safu _is_ brilliant— but not without effort. Our high school demanded the gifted and you either let that crush you or you grew. Safu flourished within the system.”

         Something in Shion’s eyes tells Nezumi it’s not the full story. “And you?”

         “What?”

         “Did you ‘flourish’?”

         Something moves across Shion’s face but fades as quickly as it arrives. He looks out the window and blindly reaches for his beanie in the drink holder.

         “It didn’t matter, ultimately.” Shion plays with it, absentmindedly stretching the knit-work in his hands. “I got sick and was hospitalized. Academics were the least of my concern then.”

         The sound of rain echoes in the car. Nezumi tries to keep the surprise off his face, but it almost makes sense. A sudden illness could have been responsible for Shion’s hair, time in a hospital would explain his poor social skills although something tells Nezumi those were an issue long beforehand.

         What doesn’t make sense, however, is Shion’s reaction. His face looks sad but his voice is calm, and his body is entirely relaxed. His eyes on the other hand, are filled with something else— something visceral is surging, an emotion Nezumi can’t read for the life of him. He’s hiding something and he’s doing a piss-poor job of it. Nezumi licks his lips ready to call him out when Shion interrupts him.

         “Please don’t say you’re sorry. Too many people apologize and don’t mean it.”

         Nezumi blinks. The nerve of this guy— Nezumi may want to jump his bones, but he doesn’t appreciate being lied to. “I wasn’t going to.”

         “Oh,” Shion starts. “That’s…the usual reaction.”

         “Maybe it is, if someone’s actually upset." 

         “You don’t think I’m upset?”

         “No. You’re trying your best to look like it though,” Nezumi clarifies as Shion’s eyes widen comedically. “I know an actor when I see one. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to but don’t treat me like an idiot.”

         Nezumi prepares for Shion’s eyes to darken, for him to yell at Nezumi to keep out of his business when he hasn’t even shared his own, but instead he hears a breathless laugh beside him.

         “You got me—you’re incredible Nezumi,” Shion says, the awe clear in his voice. Shion’s eyes meet Nezumi’s for a fraction of a second in his reflection on the windshield before Nezumi looks away.

         Shion speaks quietly, “I wished for it. I knew I didn’t want to be where I was—getting ready to attend college early because of this _plan_ that was decided the second Safu and I graduated.”

         “You wanted to get sick?” Nezumi asks, startled, glad they’re in scenic nowhere because he’d rather not crash Shion’s car while he’s pouring his heart out.

         “I wanted _change_. And when I fell ill— I thought it was the change I was looking for, but I was wrong. I was…very wrong.” Shion speaks quietly— a new, more honest sadness in his voice. “I wasn’t ready for the pain, and I wasn’t ready to wake up like _this_. I survived, but barely. Treatment was expensive and far above what Mom could afford— we nearly lost everything and I had wished for it.”

         Shion turns the beanie in his hands—Nezumi can almost _hear_ the gears in his head turning, his forehead wrinkled in thought, eyebrows drawn firmly together.

         “You know,” Shion starts— hesitating for a fraction of a second before confessing.  “I wanted change, but I didn’t even get that in the end. I was just put into another ordered box. I couldn’t even get dressed on my own—and doctors and nurses were constantly monitoring everything I did. I lost what little power I did have and for two years in that hospital all I could think of was that I wanted to go back to my simple life before.”

         “Do you still want to?” Nezumi asks.

         “No.” Shion says, seeming to surprise himself. “I was ignorant, I still am. Maybe I never truly wanted change in the first place, maybe I still don’t— but I know I don’t want to return to how I was— before or after getting sick." 

         Nezumi chuckles approvingly, “What do you want then?”

         “I don’t know.” Shion says— and he’s smiling like it’s the best thing he’s said all week. “It’s amazing, I don’t know at all.”

         Nezumi raises an eyebrow, tempted to congratulate him on his complete and utter lack of knowledge—when Shion’s face falls.

         “Nezumi, I still feel—I mean was it my—fault? No, I know the answer to that—I didn’t _decide_ to get sick and to leave Safu on her own ahead of me, but at the same time I still feel—I don’t…“ Shion trails off.

         “Responsible is the word you’re looking for,” Nezumi tries to sound neutral, understanding Shion’s suffering far too well. “And you shouldn’t feel that way. But you probably will for a long time." 

         Shion nods, a small twitch of his head. “Yes.” 

         “It wasn’t your fault you know— it was unavoidable.” Nezumi says, feeling hollow— it isn’t what he wants to say, and judging by Shion’s face, it’s not what he wants to hear either.

         “That doesn’t change how it is,” Shion mumbles.

         “I understand.” He breathes in and listens to the soft sound of rain on the roof of the car. “I’m sorry.” 

         Shion attempts a smile, “I thought you weren’t going to apologize to me?”

         “I meant it.” Nezumi frowns and Shion is quiet by his side. When one of Nezumi’s hands slides from the wheel and into Shion’s neither of them feels the need to comment.


	18. Little Boxes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi and Shion makes plans and then promptly forget about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long! Hope it's worth the wait. (I almost split it in two but it's definitely been long enough that I think a longer chapter is warranted.)  
> My thanks to Megucahomo for editing and to everyone keeping up with this. C:

        Nezumi’s fairly certain someone just copied and pasted the same perfectly square inoffensive house thirty times in a row to make this neighborhood. The hedges are cut into perfect rectangles, the sidewalks are meticulously swept, and outside of every house is an identical boring garden filled with the same cheap store-bought plants. How can so many people live in this area? Nezumi tries to focus on the whir of the engine and the patter of rain against the windows instead of counting how many straw welcome mats they pass. He glances at Shion, wondering if he can see how irritating this place is.

         “Miserable area, huh?” He states, partially to make conversation, partially to share his disgust, but mostly to get some sort of reaction out of Shion who’s been lamely feigning sleep since they stopped talking about his history. Shion’s motionless face is starting to leave a slight foggy imprint on the window and Nezumi gives him some points for effort— however his eyes open far too swiftly at Nezumi’s statement, making his treachery obvious. He doesn’t even attempt to yawn and show how ‘tired’ he is.

         “Reminds me a little of my old neighborhood,” he finally comments, tilting his head slightly to stare out at the houses. 

        “Glad you left it,” Nezumi grimaces. “Even my neighborhood’s better than this one.”

         “What’s yours like?”

         “What it lacks in appearance it makes up for with a fun excess of broken windows and unintended hideaways. I wouldn’t walk around at night without something to defend yourself with, but I make do for now. Home is home— and more importantly home is _cheap_.” 

         “That sounds unsafe.”

        Nezumi finds himself grinning. If only Shion knew. “I can take care of myself. People are more likely to be afraid of me than vice-versa.” 

        Shion turns away from the window, eyes disapproving. “No one should have to be afraid of you at all.”

         “Sometimes that’s the safer thing. You would do well to follow my neighborhood’s lead,” Nezumi remarks, only 80% joking. Shion only rolls his eyes, clearly unmoved to comment as he tucks himself into his seat and rests his palm against the window. It almost looks like he’s trying to touch the rain outside.

        Shion opens and closes his fingers, alternating between blocking and staring at each house. He wonders if the neighborhood is dredging up some painful memories. Nezumi tries to string together some words of consolation, but finds they’ve dried up at some point in the journey to his mouth.

Instead he runs his thumb along the outer edge of Shion’s palm, which earns him a startled glance.Nezumi forces himself to smile since Shion hasn’t yet.

        “Alright Shion. Where do you want to go?” His voice is inviting. Good. Nezumi hasn’t forgotten how to make things sound appealing at least. Shion squeezes his hand and shrugs noncommittally. Nezumi clears his throat loudly. 

        “I thought having no destination was part of the journey.” 

        Nezumi rolls his eyes. “Try not to hold me to everything I say, I’ll get self-conscious. You can still pick a destination—“

        “The GPS is broken.”

        “We’ll figure it out! Stop thinking, would you? Just name a place that you’d like to see—somewhere you haven’t been, or somewhere you’ve dreamed of and we’ll make it happen.” 

        Shion gapes like Nezumi’s just asked him to write a 22-page paper on quantum entanglement— actually for him that would probably be preferable. “That’s too poetic for me Nezumi. I haven’t really thought about much beyond getting away, honestly.” 

        Nezumi scowls. “You have absolutely no taste. Just pick somewhere generic then. We can use it as a jumping off point and we’ll stop to find your spot on the way.” 

        “Somewhere generic?” Shion rubs at the back his head. “I liked that field we were in earlier…” he trails off, drumming his fingers against his leg.

        “You want to visit another empty lot by the highway, Shion?” Nezumi asks, rapidly losing faith in his companion.

        “Well, yes but. I was thinking more along the lines of seeing the stars. When we were out there you mentioned there being more of them out farther—“

        “A simple wish.” Nezumi nods. “We can do that.”

        “We’ll do it?”

        “It’s that easy. If we keep driving we’ll probably come across some desert or— your favorite!— an open lot. And we’ll stop there and you can have a look around.”

        “What about you?” Shion’s sitting up now, Nezumi feels his familiar gaze and smiles a little.

        “What _about_ me? I’ll be there too, watching you watch them.”

        “But surely you have someplace you want to go?”

        Nezumi thinks of sunsets, late night drives to nowhere, the wind on his skin, and an empty bed at the end of it all and shakes his head. “I just want to move. The location doesn’t really matter—well okay it _does_ matter— don’t give me that look. It matters, but it’s irrelevant to my decision to travel.”

        Shion’s eyebrows are tightly together, a small frown on his face. Nezumi sighs. “Let me break it up for you. I’ve been around, but I’ve never travelled with someone else and because of that, anywhere is interesting. Make sense?”

        Shion’s staring at him _again_. Nezumi shifts his seat. “What _now?_

        “That was a real answer,” Shion whispers, alarmed. “You didn’t try to dodge my question. You just answered. _Honestly_." 

        “I can give an honest answer sometimes!” Nezumi glares and Shion laughs beside him.

        “I’ve had my doubts!” Shion jokes, and then adds, a warm smile on his face that could probably melt a glacier. “…You think I’m interesting.”

        “I think you’re an ass, is what I think.” Nezumi mumbles, focusing on the road. No need to make a big deal out of it. He definitely does _not_ squirm in his seat. “Chimpanzees are interesting sometimes—that doesn’t make them smooth. Don’t obsess over it.”

        “Nezumi!” Shion elbows him and Nezumi bites down a laugh.

The smile Shion wears on his face is the portrait of peace. “Thank you, for trying to cheer me up. And thanks for before. I needed to share that I think. You’re the first person I’ve ever been able to tell.”

        Nezumi shrugs. “All I did was listen.”

        “It made me happy anyway. I’m ready for everything you can show me.”

        And something in Nezumi thinks _, I’d show you everything all right,_ before he has time to crush the thought into tiny pieces. Dick. Brain. Fucking hell.

        “Is that water?” Shion asks, sitting up in his seat. Nezumi looks out. The apartment houses give way to a gravel parking lot surrounded by some tall beach grasses. If Nezumi squints, he can spot some motion in the distance that may be waves. It’s possible--this area seems to be wealthy and popular enough to have one or two beaches stashed away.

        “Looks like it. I guess we’re in beach country. It’s a shame about the rain but—“

        “Pull over up there,” Shion commands.

        “What?”

        “Up there. At the parking lot with the little pier, pull into the lot there.”

        Nezumi has to squint to spot the pier Shion’s talking about. It seems to be a path to the beach. “It’s raining.”

        “I want to see it! This is it Nezumi!” Shion’s nose is practically pressed against the front window. When Nezumi starts to pass the lot he releases Nezumi’s hand to blindly pat at him.

        “Hey – hey no need to get handsy, words work just as well—“

        “But you’re not pulling over—“ Shion starts, and Nezumi knows it’s time for them to get out of the car because he’s using his serious-pissy voice and the last time he used that voice Nezumi wound up dating him. Maybe. Shit _that_ still needs to be clarified.

        “Pull over pull over!”

        “Fine!”

        Nezumi jerks the wheel and pulls them into the soft gravel of the parking lot. “Any further orders Your Royal Highness?”

        “I changed my mind. This is where I want to go.” 

        “What? A beach in the rain? _That’s_ your dream spot?”

        Shion’s eyes are practically sparkling even though his face is mostly calm. “Yes! Come outside with me?" 

        “You’re fucking weird,” Nezumi shakes his head, watching Shion dig in his bag to pull out a clear, plastic umbrella that probably cost a lot of money considering its complete and utter lack of personality. Shion probably bought it for his grand adventure. _Wow_. Hurriedly Shion unfolds the base of the pricey thing with a snap and fires a grin in Nezumi’s direction. Nezumi hesitantly returns it and unlocks the car.

        There is something a little exciting about the rain, Nezumi considers, looking through the window. The beach will probably be empty too, which is a nice bonus. He wonders if Shion’s ever fantasized about kissing in the rain like an idiot.

        “Nothing more romantic than pneumonia, right?” Nezumi drawls as he aggressively tries to get the image of Shion’s hair wet and sticking to his flushed cheeks out of his head.

        Shion laughs, slipping his beanie on, which somewhat cracks Nezumi’s fantasy. “I’m not going to get pneumonia. I have a hat.” 

        “I don’t and that doesn’t stop pnemon—” Shion shuts the door behind him, leaving Nezumi to sulk in the car. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck before climbing out to join his companion.

        Inside the car the rain was a vague sort of concept. The image of standing in the rain was romantic— thrilling even— while there was a car protecting them. 

        Outside of the car the rain is fucking cold and includes _wind_ that slams Nezumi’s bangs to his forehead as downright _glacial_ droplets soak through his thin cloth jacket. Nezumi wraps his arms around himself and pushes his already damp hair out of his eyes with a ferocity found only in freezing men. 

        Shion seems to be in a similar emotional state. He wrestles with the umbrella unleashing a flurry of apologies and curses as per usual technological battle. Nezumi could kill him.

        “Come on Shion it’s not neurobiology just open the damn thing!”

        Shion practically growls at him. “It’s impossible to do with the wind like this and it’s new and I need to figure out how it opens first! Don’t distract me!” The idiot can dismantle a GPS successfully on his first try; he should not take this long to deal with a goddamn umbrella when the wind is cold.

        Nezumi leans against the car and visualizes warm places. Deserts, libraries, microwaves, hotels…

        When the umbrella opens Nezumi huddles under it so fast he almost forgets Shion is the one he’s huddling with. Unfortunately Shion has a tendency to make himself very hard to forget, brushing up against his shoulder. He could stand to look a little softer when they’re practically cuddling—as it is, Shion’s grumpy glare could probably rival his own.

        “This is a little more cramped than I visualized,” he says, and it’s the understatement of the century. If Shion were to slouch, he probably could rest his chin on Nezumi’s shoulder.

        “No way!” Nezumi scowls, trying not to feel the breath in the middle of his neck, and instead relish in the tiny inkling of pride he gets from being just that much taller than Shion. 

        Their height difference isn’t substantial enough to force Nezumi to keep his chin low or bow his head when talking to Shion— but it does force him to hold the umbrella a little higher and compensate for Nezumi. Wordlessly, Nezumi takes the umbrella from him to save him the trouble and Shion shifts a little closer, joining him against the car.

        “You look cold,” Shion observes. Disappointingly there’s nothing sexual in the remark as Nezumi is in fact, very cold.

        “How did the temperature drop so much? It was so hot a week ago.” Nezumi looks at the path to the beach, planning the driest route. The wooden pier disappears into piles of wet sand and strange beach plants. On the horizon he can catch a glimpse of a thin line of water. It shouldn’t be a long walk.

        “It might be the region,” Shion says, reaching up. He pulls off his beanie examining it carefully. “Why don’t you wear this?”

        “What?”

        “It’s a little damp from the rain but if you don’t mind…” The goddamn beanie is suddenly in front of Nezumi’s face. “Hats are excellent for retaining body heat. And now that we have the umbrella I don’t need it.”

        “You want me to put on your sweaty hat? How generous of you.” Nezumi keeps his voice perfectly relaxed, moving his hand away from Shion’s as he attempts to pass him the hat. He notices the way Shion avoids pressing himself against his chest when Nezumi taunts him closer. Something in Nezumi thrills at the sight. 

        “It’s not sweaty, I washed it at Inukashi’s,” Shion defends. He crosses his arms, seeming to have given up forcing the beanie into Nezumi’s hands. 

        He’s looking very warm in spite of the rain. Nezumi’s feeling closer to a wet sock, but Shion seems to glow with health. His eyes are bright and alive and his cheeks are a little pink. Nezumi’s stomach flips a little when he realizes he’s likely the one that put that warmth there. Technically, Nezumi’s brain reminds him, it could have been the rain causing Shion to flush but Nezumi refuses to surrender this gift to something as unimportant as the weather.

        Now he just needs to get Shion to share it. “In that case, go ahead.”

        “What?” Shion asks. Nezumi pulls his lips into a grin. He bows his head, aiming only to collect some of the heat coming off of Shion’s skin by fleetingly brushing his damp forehead against Shion’s almost dry one.

         “Go on. Put it on.” Nezumi whispers, meeting Shion’s confused eyes, unsure why his voice has dropped so low when this clearly is just to tease Shion.

        “What— I can’t do that. Your hair is in the way—“

        “Untie it then.” Nezumi says, resisting the urge bury his face in Shion’s shoulder and soak in the heat of his neck. So many options.

        Shion swallows, reaching above Nezumi, untying his hair with inexperienced fingers. He licks his lips, dark eyes studying Nezumi’s face. Good.

        “You’re pushing me, Nezumi. Why?”

        _Why indeed?_

        Nezumi doesn’t answer Shion or himself. Thoughts like that are much too complicated when he has Shion exactly where he wants him and his thin fingers deep and loose in his hair. Shion runs a hand through it to rid it of tangles. Nezumi opens his eyes and lets his gaze drop to Shion’s neck. What else can he get away with?

        “Hat?” Nezumi whispers to his companion after Shion’s hands have lingered several seconds too long on his scalp. He leans down, lips nearly brushing Shion’s neck as he speaks, “I need you to put that on for me.”

        “Nezumi?” Shion’s voice is unexpectedly quiet. “What are you doing?”

        “Go on, Shion. Help me out.” Nezumi presses, leaning into him. His skin is smooth, it would be easy to kiss along Shion’s neck where he is now. Nezumi rests his lips against it, just to test it, to make sure it’s as warm as it looks.

 It is.

Nezumi breathes in Shion’s unexpectedly sweet smell and thinks of faraway bakeries. For some reason his mind conjures up a nebulous image of Shion’s mother, a beautiful woman with the same strange eyes as her son pulling bread out of the oven, smiling tenderly. Nezumi wonders what it looks like when Shion smiles back at her, the joy in his eyes, the familiarity. That’s what Shion’s home is like—warm and hopelessly appealing—hell that’s what Shion’s like. Nezumi can’t help but indulge; nipping at Shion’s neck and snaking an arm around his back, pulling him closer to taste and bury himself deeper into this warmth, it’s so nice to feel someone is warm again—

        Shion makes a soft sound politer than a moan but no less eager. A weight drops in Nezumi’s stomach. 

He breaks away immediately. 

        “Nezumi?” Shion’s hands are resting gently on his _back_ of all the fucking places. His eyes are wide and confused and Nezumi hates himself. 

        He’s leading _Shion_ on. And for what? Mindless warmth? Grabbing a greedy bit of attention before he spits him back out?

        Stealing some pancakes from a gawker is one thing, but trying to seduce Shion is something entirely different. How could he do that to him? How dare he be willing, even for a second, to use Shion and break his heart after all the trust his _friend_ has placed in him?

        When did Nezumi let himself get so desperate? Shion’s hands rub his back gently and Nezumi feels like his skin’s turned to ice. Every inch of him is ready to attack, screaming at him to run—get away from this poor sap before he makes anything worse than he already has. Shion’s talking but it’s barely audible over the sound of his heart beating in his ears.

         “Nezumi? Nezumi, look at me—“

        Nezumi refuses, wondering if he holds still his blood will pump out of his body and sprint away anyway. He forces air into his lungs. He will stay calm. “Stop talking.”

        Shion’s touching him again, pushing his hair back so it’s out of his face. He cups his cheek carefully, brushing it with his thumb. Nezumi doesn’t move, refuses to lift his head and refuses to pull away. Refuses. “You didn’t hurt me. I actually— I wanted you to. I’m sor—“

        “Of course you wanted me to!” Nezumi spits, wrenching out of Shion’s grasp. “I’m _playing_ you, you—!”  Nezumi swallows his insult, unable to finish it, unsure if he _wants_ to finish it.

        Shion stares at him, eyes sad, but his voice is irritatingly confident. “You aren’t playing me Nezumi.”

        “You don’t get to decide that.”

        Shion has the gall to reach for him again. Nezumi takes a quick step back, forgetting he’s holding the umbrella and lets the rain hit them both.

        Shion’s eyebrows are drawn together, his lips tilted downward in a soft frown. His hands rest comfortably at his sides as he studies Nezumi intently. The rain pelts him but he hardly seems to notice.

        “Nezumi,” he whispers, perfectly calm. “It’s okay.”

        Nezumi throws the umbrella at his feet and runs.


	19. When it Rains it Pours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi goes for a pleasant jog through the rain.

        Solidity is a strange thing, Nezumi notes, suddenly hyperaware of the fact he’s running on the sand of a planet traveling faster than he can comprehend. For a brief moment he feels like he’s looking at himself from an airplane, a tiny ant running along the beach. He grows dizzy at the thought or maybe exhaustion, but he can’t afford to slow down and figure out which is responsible **.** If he stops moving he’s not sure if he’ll sink through the sand or fly through the air and Nezumi’s sure as hell not ready to take that risk.

        He can’t trust feelings anymore.

        Shion had, after all, felt real and it felt _good_ to touch him. Raindrops had pooled on his neck and Nezumi tasted them and selfishly claimed the heat of Shion’s skin for himself.

        It was shameful of him to trap Shion like that.

        But it _felt_ wonderful.

        It’s almost easy to accept that fact when Nezumi’s running top-speed _away_ from the person in question.

        Water sticks to his skin like sweat and takes up residence in his bangs, affixing the dark strands to his face. Nezumi forces his mind to rebuild around the slightly uncomfortable sensation. He probably looks ridiculous—feet sinking into the sand as he runs—but at least he’s ridiculous and _alone_. Running away is childish, but at least he won’t yell at Shion for something that’s not his fault and fuck things up between them further. This is the safer option.

        Nezumi finally convinces himself to stop sprinting when he notices his socks are wet and every press of his foot makes a horrible squishing sound. He takes a few steps into the ocean in order to allow his legs to ease themselves into a walk. He shoves them deeper in the water as an afterthought. Anything to silence that _sound_.

        His feet are now extra cold and understandably displeased by his logical decision. Is nothing fair?

        The tide pulls at his ankles, Nezumi vaguely recognizes the sound of his breathing, helplessly fast and catching at odd times. So it was exhaustion. Nezumi runs a hand over his face, wiping off some of the rain, when the side of his fingers catches on familiar soft knit.

        Shion’s beanie.

        _It’s okay._

        _It sure as hell isn’t_ , Nezumi mentally replies— wrenching the hat off. Rainwater seeps through the knit fabric and onto his hands. He has the irrational impulse to throw the beanie into the ocean but the phantom memory of Shion’s arms around him somehow reduces his anger into something small and pathetic. Guilt eagerly fills the void instead.

        Nezumi swallows, willing his heart to just calm down already; silently begging the earth to halt its orbit for a few seconds and let him catch his breath and tone down the intensity of the rainy world around him. The empty beach shouldn’t be so exhausting but everything is just _too sharp._ The tide pulling at his feet pulls at his stomach. The light breeze on his face pisses him off and the salty air filling his lungs only seems to make him itch.  If he can just darken everything, quiet the world, stop the wind and halt the ocean _maybe_ then he can just… settle down. Maybe he can forget screwing up with Shion if he can just dull everything around him, just deny all the color brought into his wretched life and replace it with something more manageable.

        Nezumi’s trying to forget Shion’s breathy laugh when he hears the tell-tale plop of wet shoes on the beach. A glance to his feet alerts him that he is still stationary, this mistake he has every intention of remedying before— 

         “Please don’t run anymore,” Shion says, and Nezumi fails to see the merit in his argument as he takes a rebellious step away from Shion’s careful voice. His companion is undeterred by his sudden uprising and opts to speak louder above the storm. “We’re far away from the car, and we’re soaked. We need to get someplace warm and then I’ll leave you to calm down. For now, just please hold still, don’t run anymore.”

Damn his logic. 

        Nezumi doesn’t stay still, not exactly. He instead turns and faces Shion, which is probably the bigger mistake. Shion’s eyebrows are in a tight little line, his forehead wrinkled in thought or worry. His white shirt is plastered to his pale skin and Nezumi can catch a glimpse of his stomach through the fabric. Nezumi forces his gaze to remain on Shion’s face, or just above Shion’s right ear because ogling is actually the very last thing he needs to do right now, and far enough from his mind to seem absurd. Water drips from Shion’s flattened hair but the man pays it no mind.

        Shion’s hands, however, are shaking slightly and his lips have the faintest hint of blue in them.  For the first time, Nezumi wonders how long it’s been since he ran away. He thinks to ask, but instead what comes out of his mouth is—

 “Where’s the umbrella?” It’s a safe question at least. Kiss-free.

         “I don’t know. I was too busy chasing after you to worry about it.” Shion’s voice is low, starting to take on that commanding edge that makes Nezumi squirm. He fights the urge to wince.

         “Wasn’t it new?”

        Shion’s eyes scan over Nezumi’s shivering body and loose their edge. He looks at him like he’s an infant, wondering if he’s capable of walking or stringing together sentences. Nezumi can’t help but wonder with him.

         “It’s not important. Come here.” Shion’s eyes are warm as he reaches out to grab Nezumi’s hand. In that moment, Nezumi can’t meet his gaze. The joy from finding Nezumi seems to fade away from Shion’s face until he’s making no expression at all. His hand drops to his side and a new weight drops in Nezumi’s stomach with it.

         “Okay,” he says, softly. “We should get back to the car. Please come with me.” 

        When Shion turns away and starts walking Nezumi finds he follows him.

        Shion takes the drivers seat and turns on the car. Nezumi stares at his seat, wondering if the water will damage it. It’s his fault. Shion brushes some of his wet hair out of his face as he pulls them out of the lot. Nezumi thinks to ask where they’re going, but irritating Shion seems like the worst idea in the world right now.

        Nezumi promised he’d be more honest— he didn’t promise to say every thought running through his head and _yet_. Everything about the silence in the car feels wrong. Nezumi needs to fill it, he knows that much, but with what?

         “I just don’t get it. I really don’t.” Shion’s grip on the wheel is loose, but his voice is strained. Shame grips Nezumi’s gut, sudden and painful. Of course Shion is talking. Shion takes charge easily with steady eyes and a firm stance. He grips life, willing to grapple and struggle and say what he means and normally—normally Nezumi would run to meet him, offer him answers to his questions and ask some more. They’d figure things out together but now he has nothing. His mind is color and sound, static on a TV, and Nezumi can’t for the life of him figure out where all the questions and answers went.

         “It’s just—“ Shion tries again. “Normally the person who’s touched suddenly is the one who gets upset. But—you’re upset and I don’t know what to do about that. I want to help but I don’t know what to do.” 

         “I’m sorry,” Nezumi says, and it’s easy because he is. He’s scared and he’s sorry and words have left him and Shion probably will too because he’s a mess and always will be a mess no matter how much traveling he does.

        Shion cringes. “You told me not to waste apologies, Nezumi.”

         “I’m not wasting it. I don’t know what to say either. I wanted to—“

        What did he want? To sleep with Shion? To be close and let Shion kiss all the fear out of him? All of those things are too selfish, too awful. Nezumi can’t rely on Shion like that.

         “You could have,” Shion says quietly. “I probably would have agreed, you know.”

        And it’s that easy for him. Nezumi buries his face in his hands and groans. “That’s the problem.”

         “Is it not okay with you?”

        Nezumi finds he can’t answer that yet. He takes a deep breath, trying to fabricate something. “It wasn’t about you, obviously. None of that was. I’m trying to figure things out— but you should be upset with me. Hell, you should be pissed at me. I made a move, something you’ve obviously been waiting for, and then ran away from you. Those are the facts. Why do you —”

— _still want this?_ Nezumi finishes in his head, clamping his mouth shut and forcing himself to stare out the window. It isn’t what he wanted to say. It’s not even close. “I don’t know.”

        Silence fills the car, painfully oppressive. Nezumi shuts his eyes, tuning out every sound but the repetitive push-pull of the windshield wipers. 

        “I don’t know either,” Shion says, simply. “But I guess that’s why we’re out here. We’ll figure it out. Like everything else.”

        Nezumi desperately wants to believe Shion’s words; to believe that they’ll figure it out-- to believe that one day everything between them will settle properly and someday everything he’s feeling will make sense.

         “You know what I found in my travels?”

         “No?” Shion asks, glancing at Nezumi briefly.

         “Brief seconds of understanding and a lot of nothing. I don’t know where any answers are. It’s unsatisfying.” Nezumi’s sorry to disappoint him but it’s better this way.

         “Then maybe that’s what we need right now. To be dissatisfied.”

         “What?”

         “I think it’s okay that travelling doesn’t give any answers. Nothing is ever that clear-cut. I think the fact that you’re searching is enough. Maybe we’re thinking about it the wrong way anyway—maybe we should travel not to give us answers but to accept the fact that there are none. It’s not about the destination, right?”

        Shion smiles as he says it. Nezumi’s almost betrayed by the sudden warmth that fills his chest. It’s such a simple idea, it can’t be true. They’re just pretty words that free them from the obligation of searching. How could wherever they be simply be _right_?

         “That doesn’t make sense,” Nezumi says, and Shion sighs, pulling them into a rusty old gas station.

         “Well, whatever you think, we need to fill the car up.”

        It’s not a resolution, but it’s the end of the conversation. Nezumi fishes out gas money from his bag and pays Shion as he throws open the car door and steps into rain. He’s absolutely soaked. Guiltily, Nezumi looks toward the gas station convenience store.  “Why don’t we dry off a bit? I’ll get us something to eat.”

         “Here?”

         “Here. I’ll meet you inside, okay?”

        The squishing is back, now on the shitty linoleum floors of the gas station convenience store. Some cheap brand of background noise that makes elevator music seem thrilling plays through the dilapidated building and Nezumi attempts not to squeak and squish along to it. A low-pitched cackle rips him out of his thoughts. Nezumi turns to fire a glare at the offender but his irritation quickly gives way to surprise.

        There is a black crow perched on the cash register. It’s preening of all things, lightly ruffling its feathers as its beady black eyes stare straight into Nezumi’s soul.

         “Get down from there,” the cashier grumbles, pushing lightly at the crow as it squawks rebelliously, fluttering to the counter. Nezumi forces his mouth to close. Are people bringing birds to work now? How far society’s fallen.

        Nezumi’s heard of owners looking like their pets, but he never really believed it until seeing this man. The resemblance is in the eyes, he decides, although the man’s mostly black attire certainly isn’t doing him any favors. He’s too well-dressed for a cashier working the night shift, clad in a fancy black jacket that probably costs more than everything Nezumi’s wearing. His nametag reads “Yoming”. Nezumi labels him an eccentric.

         “Sorry, he’s mine,” the cashier states, unnecessarily as his bird leaps off the counter. “--Shit.”

         “Most people go for a cat. Or a hamster.”

         “I’m not most people,” Yoming replies, confident in spite of the fact his crow is currently perched on the slurpee machine. “Can I help you?”

         “You have towels?” Nezumi asks, determined not to pick a fight with the cashier of a shitty gas station even though he’s just noticed that his _shoes are shined._

         “In the bathroom,” he answers, creepy-ass eyes scanning over Nezumi’s wet form. “We also make hot chocolate too, you know.”

         “Get me two. And nachos.” Nezumi says, heading off toward the bathroom. 

        He looks like a wreck in the mirror, but that’s to be expected after his accidental afternoon jog. His hair falls thickly onto his shoulders; his hair tie lost to Shion. Ineffectually he tries to work some of the newly formed tangles out with his fingers. 

        A shiver works its way up his spine, and Nezumi knows it’s time he changed out of these clothes, or at least dried them off. He removes his wet shirt, careful to not get trapped by it clinging and starts wringing it out. The less water on his clothes at this point, the better.

        Once Shion finishes up maybe they can both change and check into a hotel. Nezumi will apologize and sleep on the floor, of course, and everything will melt into something manageable.

        Shion opens the door, and all hope of mellowing out the current situation fly through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're wondering why Yoming has a crow he has one in the novels and I believe it appears in the manga too. It literally hops in the car and travels with him. Karan offers to make it bread it's the most amazing thing I've ever read ever. What a fantastic ride No. 6 is.


	20. The World as We Know It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nezumi's back talks to him and it's very concerning also debates happen or something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE. AN UPDATE! Thanks for editing Megucahomo.

        “Nezumi--?”

        Why the _fuck_ didn’t Nezumi lock the door?

        Nezumi slams his elbow against the sink in the rush to hide his marred skin. Sharp pinpricks work their way up his arms and burrow into his shoulders in retaliation. He swallows a grunt and quickly sidesteps so his back is up against the wall between the sink and hand dryer. It’s pathetically obvious by now, but having his scars covered again calms him down somewhat.

        “Are you hurt?” Shion asks, mouth open slightly. Nezumi’s hit with the desperate urge to clamp his mouth shut with his hands— as if that will pull the surprise right out of Shion and reverse the last 30 seconds.

        “This is a single restroom,” Nezumi blurts. He twists his wet t-shirt in his hands, trying to shake the numbness out of his limbs.

        “The door wasn’t locked, I thought…“ Shion trails off, shaking his head and flinging water droplets in every direction. A wet dog comes to mind, but Nezumi’s not in the mood to laugh as he is half-naked in front of the last person he wants to be in a bathroom alone with.

        “Is that recent? Can I ask—“

        “It’s a scar, so no. I’d rather you didn’t,” Nezumi hisses, pressing himself closer against the wall.

        “Oh,” Shion says, more of an exhale than a proper comment. His clothes are dry and he holds what seems to be a cloth bundle in his arms.

        Nezumi forces his voice to soften. “It’s long healed. Don’t worry about it, alright?”

        Shion stands a little straighter, fingers toying with the fabric in his hands. Nezumi almost wishes he had undressed further, just so Shion would be red and looking at other parts of him instead of forcing Nezumi’s heart into his throat by constantly, constantly finding his eyes.

        “Okay.”

        “I mean it,” Nezumi emphasizes, just to get those eyes to stop studying him in their strange, quiet way. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

        “You already said that,” Shion replies, finally looking away. He adjusts the fabric in his arms for a moment before setting it on top of the sink.

        Nezumi immediately recognizes the shirt. Clothing—his. Shion brought him a change of clothes. Nezumi’s back throbs lamely against the cool tile of the bathroom. _You’re a dick_ it seems to whisper. Nezumi finds he can’t argue against it.

        **“** I guess I’ll wait outside then,” Shion announces in the same measured voice he’d been using since he went to fill up the car. His hair looks almost yellow in the shitty light of the bathroom and his skin shines a little from the rain, leaving dark splotches on his fresh clothes. He must have changed in the car, Nezumi realizes.

        Shion twists the doorknob and Nezumi catches his hand before he has time to realize what he’s doing.

        “Thank you,” he whispers.

        Shion shuts his eyes. “Don’t worry about it, right?”

Nezumi closes his hand tighter around Shion’s, at a loss. He can feel the heat coming through Shion’s back, up against his chest. They’re _so_ close. Nezumi knows in the pit of his stomach that _now_ is the time to say something to smooth things over— something honest, and grateful. Something Shion will remember.

        “I got you a hot chocolate,” he mumbles. “And some nachos.”

The statement is so unspeakably lame Nezumi actually feels his dignity evaporating.

        “From the man with the crow?” Shion asks and Nezumi notices the way the corners of his mouth curve to force an amused smile.

        “Yeah, him.” Nezumi grimaces. He releases Shion’s hand, which might as well have burst into flames. “I’ll meet you in the store.”

        Shion doesn’t move. He stares at the doorknob for an agonizing moment. Nezumi almost forgets to breathe. 

        “I still don’t understand,” he says, and shuts the door behind him.

        Nezumi exhales, hating the way his breath trembles. Shion’s already outside but he can’t help but whisper back, _“_ Neither do I.”

        Shion is standing in front of the counter with Yoming when Nezumi exits the bathroom. They’re watching the news on a small ancient-looking TV, or more accurately-- Yoming is watching the news and Shion’s occasionally sneaking nachos to his bird. 

        “You know, they talk about peace, but what the hell do they know about it?” Yoming rants. The image of a corkboard filled with newspaper clippings connected by colored string barges into Nezumi’s mind.

        Shion chews thoughtfully. “Considering only specific groups of people benefit from their description of peace, I think it’s just political rhetoric.” 

        “Exactly! You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, kid.”

        “Thank you,” Shion says, but he seems concerned by it. “You know, I can say confidently that they’re wrong, but what am I really doing to stop it? I can criticize them all I want while in my cushy, comfortable life but how much of a difference am I really making?”

        “No difference at all,” Yoming states with unusual venom. “That’s why you’ve got to force society’s eyes _open_. Tear off their eyelids so no one can look away from the mess they’ve caused.”

        “That’s…quite a metaphor.” Shion’s mouth quirks. “I’m not sure if I agree with it.”

        “It’s quite a world, kid. The sooner you learn that, the better. Everyone’s in this for themselves you see…”

        Yoming elaborates but Nezumi’s already started to tune him out. It’s not as though he entirely disagrees with the guy, but Shion’s reactions to his speech are far more interesting.

        One moment Shion’s nodding vigorously and looking as though he’s ready to rip down walls and take down the government _right_ _now right fucking now what are they waiting for_ —but soon enough the enthusiasm fades, quickly replaced with a thin, demeaning smile that screams _Okay now that’s too far_ in giant red letters _._

        “You’re wrong,” Shion states, and it’s like watching a puppy destroy a lion. Shion’s eyes are burning, shining with calculated intensity that demands attention-- even Yoming’s crow seems enraptured. 

        “Your ideas are good, but they’re not rooted in humanity, they’re rooted in power. Isn’t that the same problem we’re having now? That attitude isn’t helpful, it just further alienates everyone to the point where you’re not even trying to protect them anymore, you’re just trying to protect your own ideas.” 

        Yoming glares at him, opening his mouth for more shameless grandstanding but Shion’s gaze is firm and he falters. Nezumi almost claps from his hiding place behind the veritable rainbow of calorie-high snacks and energy drinks.

        “This is why I don’t talk politics with kids. You’re too idealistic.”

        Shion actually scoffs, “I can’t pretend to know more than anyone else, but I do know that when people turn into concepts they’re much easier to eliminate without care—and _that_ scares me. It’s not idealism, but fear that makes me speak out. You scare me.”

        But Shion doesn’t look afraid, staring straight into Yoming’s eyes. In fact, he looks downright cozy, back slouched just so, as if he accuses people of forgetting humanity every day and this is business as usual. Is this the same person that asks that they pull over so he can call his mom once a day? The same person that wants to see the stars and claims to not understand the world because he’s never walked through it?

        Yoming seems seconds away from either inviting Shion to storm the Bastille with him or clocking him hard in the face. Nezumi has no intention of finding out which will happen.

        “Hey Shion, we’re going to be late!”

        The look passing across Shion’s face looks dangerously close to ‘ _for what?_ ’ and Nezumi wonders if he’s ever had to extract himself from an unwanted conversation before. Does he just lunge into every debate with the same amount of sweeping energy and keep pushing until all his opponents are liquefied by his determination…?

        The crow squawks and it almost looks like he’s trying to comfort Yoming after his untimely defeat. Nezumi nods at it, placing a hand on Shion’s shoulder and reaching for one of his nachos. Shion bats his arm away playfully and Nezumi almost smiles. He’s not mad. That’s good.

        One additional nod toward Yoming and they’re out of the store in a heartbeat. The moon peeks through the grey of the storm clouds, its glow somewhat dulled by the colorful lights of the station. A hazy drizzle seems to have replaced the pouring rain. 

        “What was _that_ about?” Nezumi asks, climbing into the still-damp passenger’s seat. 

        Shion just shrugs, “He’s after money and power I think. Didn’t you hear him? Someone like that shouldn’t be trying to get in charge.” 

        “He’s working at a gas station, and not in politics if that’s any consolation.” 

        “He won’t give up,” Shion frowns. “I think he’s more heavily involved in things then we can ever know.”

        Nezumi thinks of the man’s shiny, shiny shoes. It’s possible. He sips the hot chocolate Shion hands to him, and lets the sugar work its magic.

        “I think the crow’s going to turn people off, at least.”

        “You make a point.” Shion laughs. Nezumi smiles a little at the easy sound.

        He’s placing his drink in the holder when Shion interrupts him, voice overlapping with the jingle of the keys in his hand. “Are you feeling better now?”

        Nezumi nearly burns himself when his hand jerks up reflexively. He recovers in a half-second, placing his arm on the window edge and tilting his head at Shion as if to ask _why wouldn’t I be?_ He wills Shion not to notice his shattered ego on the floor.

        _I’m fine_ , he thinks. _I’m fine._  

        _Liar._

        Nezumi’s arm falls, his gaze flicking to the droplets still suspended on the window. His body is heavy, too heavy to continue this charade. 

        “Somewhat,” he confesses, feeling strangely like he’s missing a layer of skin—all stripped and tender. “I don’t know, really.”

        Shion’s eyes seem to warm. “I got you something.”

        “A present? Why Shion, however will I keep my pants on no--ouch!“ Shion chucks the package at his face before he can really get into teasing him. 

        A picture of some generic male model with teeth too white to be natural gleams up at Nezumi. He’s dressed in what seems to be a cape made of black cellophane.

        “You got me a rain poncho? Isn’t it a little late for that?” Nezumi eyes the model’s smile with uncertainty before flipping the package over to get a better look at the actual poncho. The fabric looks thicker than it is in the picture.

        “They didn’t sell blankets. It was the closest I could get. Open it up!”

        “Why would I want a blanket?” Nezumi raises an eyebrow but starts opening the package anyway because Shion already bought it so he might as well not waste the thing.

        “You looked cold,” Shion clarifies. “In the bathroom. You looked cold and afraid. I thought I could help fix one of those things.”

        Nezumi’s fingers fumble with the packaging, not prepared for the strange flood of warmth in his fingertips.

        “Was that too blunt?" 

        The words slip away before Nezumi can stop them. “What _are_ you?”

        “Huh?”

        The package crinkles under his fingers, and Nezumi swallows the stupid knot that’s decided to form in his throat.

        “How do you just--” Nezumi closes his mouth and tries again. “How do you just say things like that without thinking? What _are_ you?”

Of all the things to make him lose it. A dumbass rain poncho. Fuck.

        “I’m a person, the same as you, Nezumi. I don’t understand.”

Shion’s eyebrows draw together as he shifts in his seat. He sets the keys down and undoes his seatbelt. Turning to face Nezumi fully, he raises his hand between them, palm out.

        “We’re the same, see? Just flesh and blood and feelings.”

        The same. Nezumi swallows. He’s after something—everyone is. Everyone _has to be_ —

        _It’s okay._

        Nezumi takes his hand, hesitantly holding it in both of his, trying to make sense of the lines of his palm, trying to pick apart Shion by the feel of his fingers-- trying to read each callous for intent, for violence, for guilt. Wordlessly Shion offers his other hand, and Nezumi takes it, examining it in the same way. His hand doesn’t have any answers— why would it— but the feeling is familiar. Nezumi finds he knows these hands, in spite of everything.

        “Nezumi--” Shion whispers, “Are you afraid of me?”

        Nezumi’s afraid of many things. The fear keeps him functioning. It keeps him careful. It keeps him away from mistakes like this. But Shion? He shuts his eyes. 

        “No. It’s not you.”

He can feel Shion’s stare, and the hand in his twitches a little as if to ask, _Really?_

        “I don’t know, okay?” Nezumi says too loudly, anger surging in his stomach. It’s the safest and right now Nezumi’s feeling like glass. A sharp word from Shion and he’ll be scratched forever.

        “Look at me,” Shion commands, gently pulling his hands away.

        His eyes are warm, when Nezumi meets them. Nezumi weakens under his gaze, like clay at the edge of a flowing river. He becomes something soft, moldable. Afraid.

        “What are you thinking about?” he asks, like it’s something simple.

        Nezumi’s breath catches. Nothing is simple anymore. Nothing is simple with Shion, strange, expelled-for-violence Shion who leaves thank you notes at hotels, who speaks roughly in debates, but is twice as hard on himself. Shion, his companion. Shion, his friend. Shion, his—what? 

        Nezumi can’t breathe. How is he supposed to reply without air? How is he supposed to say anything at all? He searches Shion’s face for answers, using him, no, Shion’s using _him_ —no. They both are because everyone—

        Shion’s hands are suddenly on his cheeks. A steady, reassuring pressure that completely freezes everything in Nezumi’s head. The hands don’t pull him closer, they don’t mash his cheeks or squeeze his face. They simply hold him in place. 

        He feels Shion breathe in and finds himself joining him. Shion adjusts and Nezumi recognizes by the sudden warmth on his face that they’re forehead-to-forehead. They breathe together, quietly. Nezumi lets his eyes slip shut.

        After a moment, one of Shion’s hands moves to push a loose strand of hair behind his ear. _It’s like a fucking movie_ Nezumi realizes, _I am going to die._

        “It’s okay,” Shion murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. His thumb lightly passes across Nezumi’s cheek and Nezumi opens his eyes to find his vision blurred.

        “It’s okay,” Shion repeats. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

        _What is he doing to me?_ Nezumi questions. It’s difficult to form any sort of thought over the pounding in his ears.

        “I don’t know what I’m doing, Shion,” he admits, and suddenly arms are around him, his chin finding a place on top of Shion’s shoulder. Shion rubs his back, and Nezumi wonders if he should just say _everything_ if it means more of this. 

        “I just want to clear my head, that’s it. I just want to move and get away from everything, I want to be able to look at a fucking sunset, and not think about fires or anything for once. I just— I need that. I need to free myself from you— from this— whatever _this_ is— I need to _keep moving_.”

        Words push out of his mouth like water from a broken hydrant and Nezumi’s powerless to stop them or even keep track of them. His back aches. He’s babbling mindlessly about things that Shion can’t possibly know because he hasn’t told him yet, but he doesn’t care. The words slip and fall and Nezumi just wants to let them go, let everything go for once. He closes his lips but they only open once more because he can’t breathe again and he’d rather talk then suffocate. 

        _Shion._

        He’s whispering, responding to Nezumi with steady streams of reassuring syllables and silent hushes.  Nezumi breathes, letting Shion’s words mindlessly wash over him until--

        “Nezumi, I’m not keeping you here. If you want to continue alone, you can, but I’m not leaving you like this, alright?”

        He _won’t cry_ not now, not on Shion. He won’t rely on him, he won’t push his problems on him, he won’t be his Grandmother telling him the life stories of the other members of his apartment, trying to find who was negligent, who fucked up, who killed—no. He won’t rely on Shion. Full stop.

        But to be _alone_ , again.

        _No. Please no._

        Nezumi tastes salt and wants to melt into his seat, become one with the cream-colored upholstery without sentient thoughts or feelings or friends. 

        “Nezumi…” Shion whispers, loosening his hold to stroke the hot tears falling from his cheeks. “Just breathe. With me okay? Deep breaths.”

        Nezumi focuses on the shape of Shion’s face, the gentle line between his eyebrows, the easy curve of his lips, but it’s not enough. He needs something physical, something honest, he needs the soft thump of Shion’s heart, pressed up against his own. But he feels nothing, they’re not pressed close enough, or it’s not beating fast enough for Nezumi to feel it, and Nezumi still can’t get any air, he can’t think like this he has to _feel_.

        Nezumi does the one thing he can think of to make that crucial sound palpable.

        His kiss is sloppy as a teenager’s and no less desperate. He wraps an arm around Shion’s back and pulls him closer, tighter, nearer. Nezumi kisses like a drowning man only interested in stealing Shion’s air, his words, his voice, his lips. His hand finds a way to Shion’s cheek, tilting his face so he can kiss him without their noses bumping, so he can drown more and finally, finally breathe—

        But Shion pulls away, eyes wide and face flushed, heart pounding fast against his chest. Nezumi wants to live in that beat, but Shion gently pushes him back.

        “Nezumi,” he says, running his hands through his hair. “That’s enough for now, alright?”

        And something in Nezumi warms, shatters, and bursts.


	21. Complications

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shion's interviews in no way prepared him for this.

         Nezumi’s not really sure why he bothers to feel anything anymore, but here he is— feeling _everything_ in Shion’s old-ass car, smack dab in the middle of a gas station parking lot.

         _Bastard._  

         Nezumi’s eyes burn and he chokes on the curses forming in his throat.

         It’s not Shion’s fault. He can’t blame him. If their situations were reversed he would have done the same. Shion’s learned well, really.

         _Why does it hurt so much?_

         His companion’s lips are still slightly wet and parted in a stupid ‘o’ shape that only fans Nezumi’s entirely undesired _want_.

         This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s all just so _ridiculous_. Shion pushed him away. _Shion,_ who’s been looking at him like he’s water in the desert for the last week— _pushed him away_. Nezumi half-expects to hear clapping and see Shion take a bow as he reveals that this was secretly a performance all along. It’s like a sick joke. 

         He laughs. Loudly. A mirthless, uneven noise that echoes through the car. He tugs his fingers through his tangled hair as the sound reverberates in his chest.

         Shion just about startles out of his seat. Good. Great. Fucking fantastic.

         “Nezumi!?”

         But Nezumi finds he can’t stop, he raises a hand to his throat, eyes widening. _What_ ’s _going on?_

         Arms wrap around him, his or Shion’s, it’s hard to tell but they’re squeezing a little too tight.Nezumi leans into them and lets his body shake and his air to run out, laughter giving way to rasping breaths. Shion’s whispering to him in his stupid pleasant voice, it’s _okay, it’s really okay,_ but Nezumi’s stopped listening. His mind abruptly flashes to the note that started this whole mess. Plain and simple—surrounded by color.

         _I just want to get out of this city for a while,_ Shion had written.

         _I understand,_ Nezumi should have replied. _I do and I don’t understand._

         _Let’s run together._

         _Why_ —?

         “Nezumi, talk to me,” Shion pleads, purple eyes wide and nervous. Nezumi shakes his head. His mind stills, and a wry smile forms on his face. It’s a rush, close to standing on the ledge of a cliff, frightening Shion like this. Everything abruptly feels right again. This is what Nezumi’s meant to do— it’s what he is. He’ll break Shion like this, and that’s okay. Everything between them can become unimportant now.

         “I didn’t—“ Nezumi pauses, temporarily thrown by how hoarse his voice sounds. He forces himself to sit up, and realizes Shion’s the one holding him. Shit. The fucked-up adrenaline pumping through Nezumi’s veins grants him a few breaths, and a steadier voice **.** He continues, “I didn’t think you would be so cruel, as to reject a crying man’s kiss.”

         Shion’s breath catches. Hands start rubbing soothing circles on Nezumi’s back— Nezumi flinches.

          “Oh no. Nezumi, no. I wasn’t--“

         It’s warm in Shion’s arms. Nezumi chokes out another laugh. He kissed Shion. He _kissed_ _Shion_. Fucking _idiot_. 

         “Perhaps _I’m trying to seduce you_ was simply a platonic phrase?” he taunts into Shion’s collarbone. It’s relatively easy to nestle in there as Shion’s firing so many opposing signals Nezumi might as well just relax into the one that’s the most comfortable and allows him to potentially take a nap.

         “You know it wasn’t.” 

         There are lips in his hair, warm and perfect. The same lips that were against his own minutes ago. Nezumi jumps. One of Shion’s hands is smoothing his hair, the other rests innocuously on his back. Shion’s heart pounds against his ear. Pricks of heat spread through Nezumi everywhere Shion touches. 

         “Nezumi, look at me. Please.”

         His shoulders burn and Nezumi realizes Shion’s attempting to turn him in his arms. He shuts his eyes for a second, refuses to budge but then helplessly melts into the motion.

         He can’t run.  “Shion why—“

         Shion presses kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, his ear. Gentle, chaste kisses that force his eyes open and shut down his brain.

         _Wha?_

         Shion frantically mumbles between scattered kisses, “Please don’t misunderstand. I want to kiss you so much, Nezumi. Nezumi, more than anyone I just want to—to keep you safe. But you looked so scared just now. So angry and sad. I didn’t think you wanted to kiss me, I think you wanted—“

         Shion wants him? …Still?

         _But. Why?_

         Nezumi mindlessly tilts his head trying to meet Shion’s lips again to pull the answer out through them, but Shion’s hands return to his shoulders. He doesn’t push him away, but holds him still.

Nezumi finds himself staring straight into purple eyes.

         “I think you just wanted to get out of your head,” Shion finishes.

         Nezumi blinks. Once. Twice. Shion strokes his cheek with aching caution. His eyes shine. An ocean sunrise comes to mind.

         “I don’t want to kiss you back only to find it’s something you regret later. I’m not an outlet. I’m interested in you. I don’t know if that was something you really wanted or if you just didn’t want to talk to me anymore so you did what you knew would distract me. I just need to know what that kiss was, before I reciprocate.”

         Shion looks away, ducking his head. 

         And Nezumi thinks with startling clarity— somewhere between waves of guilt and confusion and the memory Shion’s lips against his own—

_Fuck everything._

         His hand finds Shion’s. Nezumi has the impulse to crush the fingers under his, but destroys the thought. Hurting Shion is the last thing he wants. He is going to do this right, in spite of everything between them. He brings Shion’s hand to his lips, kissing each of his knuckles softly like he deserves.

         “Nezumi--?” Shion blinks.

         “Don’t do that,” Nezumi whispers.

         “Eh?”

         “Put words in my mouth Shion. It’s—a bad idea.” Nezumi clarifies, taking Shion’s face into his hands, properly this time. Shion’s cheeks heat at his touch and Nezumi studies his face. His fear doesn’t fade completely, but seems to transform into something governable with Shion gazing at him.

         “I did want to get out of my head, yes. But I didn’t regret it until you pulled away.” Nezumi swallows, the awkwardness of the situation finally settling and resulting, surprisingly not in terror, but in embarrassment.

         He swallows. “I don’t know…what I was doing. And I don’t know what the kiss was, but I know meant it.”

         “Oh,” Shion says.

         “Oh,” Nezumi repeats.

         It’s far from an answer and it probably brings up more questions than anything but when Shion moves in and kisses him hard on the mouth Nezumi can’t find it in himself to hesitate.

         He shuts his eyes and lets it happen, buries his hands in Shion’s soft, white hair and indulges in helpless attraction. Shion’s arms hug him closer and Nezumi’s ready to comply— maintaining this connection is absolutely crucial to the rotation of the earth at this point.

         Shion kisses messily, but with a certain exhilarated intensity that kindles something in the pit of Nezumi’s stomach. 

         It’s different than any other kiss Nezumi has given or received. It’s in the small things, the unmistakably _Shion_ things, the way he tries to calm his fast breathing by mumbling little mindless things into Nezumi’s mouth that neither of them understand. The way Shion awkwardly twists his body trying to get a better angle, all too ready to pull Nezumi closer, no hesitation. No pause. The way, between kisses, Shion whispers selfless words to him but kisses in a deep, consuming way that speaks of _need_.

         A fever starts between them and Nezumi wants desperately to break it— he pulls Shion closer, ready to drag him back to his seat and continue this, whatever the hell it is. Shion’s so close and terror spikes in his gut but Nezumi’s drowni— his hip knocks the hot chocolate between them. It teeters dangerously.

         “Fushmuh!” Nezumi blurts (complete nonsense instead of the intended curse) catching it painfully before it tips.

         Shion holds up his hands, giving him room, thrown by the sudden distance between them. 

          “What is it Nezumi? The syllables of his name are broken up between gentle inhales, leaving Nezumi’s head pleasantly empty and his heart strangely proud. Dammit.

         “Move over, I don’t want to get burned today,” Nezumi clarifies, gesturing lamely to the almost-full hot chocolate. It’s an ironic sentence. He ignores it.

         “Oh right I’ll just—“ Shion inches over slightly and Nezumi joins him on the too-small driver’s seat. It quickly becomes apparent that between the steering wheel, drink holders and Shion— there’s really no comfortable way for them to sit side-by-side. Nezumi settles onto Shion’s lap, trying not to put all his weight on him at once.

         Shion squirms a little—a strange, unsexy shimmy. It’s almost endearing.

         “Am I crushing you? Is this alright?”

         Shion’s arms slip behind his back, more of a strategy to get comfortable than any spicy move. “Yes it’s fine—but —are you comfortable there? You’re touching the ceiling a bit.” 

         Nezumi cringes, ducking slightly to rest against Shion’s forehead. Shion breathes in and Nezumi feels his breath on his lips. His body rallies as if hit by some sort of static charge. His face warms to match Shion’s.

         _This is…_

         _“_ Um, Nezumi?” Shion comments.

         _Fuck it_. Nezumi reminds himself. _Shion’s willing, you’re willing, why hesitate? Clear your head._  

         He leans in, it’s easy enough to find Shion’s lips like this and their positioning begins to make much more sense when Nezumi can feel Shion’s legs pressed up against his own. Nezumi runs a hand up them, curious, feeling the smooth fabric of Shion’s pants.  Shion makes a small, startled noise and Nezumi unconsciously returns the sound, deep in his throat.

         “ _Shion,”_ he mumbles against his lips. And suddenly Shion’s hands are deep in his hair and Shion’s kissing him with vigor. Nezumi presses closer, slowly relaxing into the warm lap underneath him—

         “Mm—wait!“ Shion seems to wake up, disconnecting their lips. His hair’s mussed and hopelessly tempting—Nezumi forces his gaze to the window. One of Shion’s hand drifts from Nezumi’s hair to his cheek. His fingers lightly wipe underneath his eye.

         “Nezumi, you’re still crying.”

         “Ah?” Nezumi blinks, hand flying to his other cheek. Warm water greets his fingertips.

         _Well shit._

         “Oh, this isn’t—“ Nezumi quickly wipes away the trail with his hands, now fully aware of the slight blur of his vision. He blinks several times and looks at the ceiling before caving and rubbing his eyes on his sleeve. 

         “This isn’t—“ he repeats, dumbly. “This isn’t a regular thing. They’re the same tears from before they just won’t…”

         Shion tilts his head, concern written all over his flushed face. Nezumi honestly debates running out of the car and hiding in a ditch somewhere.

         “They won’t stop?”

         Nezumi shakes his head somewhat frantically. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person—and to have it continue for this long— _What if they never stop?_  

         His derisive breath— _Of course they’ll stop_ —puffs against Shion’s face making his white hair flutter a little. Nezumi sits up, narrowly avoiding hitting his head of the roof of the car and abruptly realizes making out with Shion in the front seat was probably a Very Dumb Idea.

         He doesn’t regret it and he wouldn’t take it back but still. Not his brightest moment.

         “Don’t— talk.“ Nezumi blurts intelligently before he hears himself.

         Shion chokes, covering his mouth with his hands. Nezumi’s stomach flips before he realizes Shion’s just poorly stifling his laughter. 

         “It’s not funny!”

         Shion holds up his hands, coughing once. “I know! It’s just— You were making this face! This childish face I thought it was…“

         Shion trails off, showing some modicum of survival ability, but his lips stay turned up in a knowing smile. Nezumi wonders if the tears are making his glass-melting glare less impressive or Shion’s just developed immunity.

         “Oh _do_ elaborate, Shion. Tell me more about my childish face,” Nezumi threatens.

         Shion only shakes his head. Nezumi feels one of his hands tangle in his hair, and wonders if Shion’s going to kiss him again when he’s suddenly pushed into Shion’s shoulder.

         “I’m sorry for laughing,” Shion says. 

         “Yeah, yeah,” Nezumi mumbles, snug in the space between Shion’s neck and shoulder. He smells nice. Fresh. Unfair.

         Nezumi’s quivering heartbeat slows as Shion draws circles on his back.

         “This is fucking humiliating,” he grumbles after a moment. “I feel like a child.”

         “It’s okay, Nezumi. You’re human too.”

         Nezumi grunts.

         “Um,” Shion says after a moment because he can never seem to keep quiet for longer than 30 seconds when Nezumi wants him to. “What are we?” 

         Nezumi sighs, loudly.

         “You want to do this now? Really?”

         Shion runs a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I can wait.”

         But really, Shion’s waited long enough. It really is time to slap a label on this thing, whatever it is. Nezumi shakes his head, pulling away from Shion’s neck in order to look at him. Shion smiles and wipes under Nezumi’s eyes again, and Nezumi falters.

         “You want to pick a title, Shion? I’m sure you’ve been thinking of one.” 

         Lovers. Boyfriends. All kinds of attachments pop into Nezumi’s head. He finds it hard to argue with any of them. After all this, he might as well admit defeat and commit. They’re nebulous words but not impossible to negotiate with. Dating Shion…he’s practically already agreed. Nezumi would be lying if he said the possibility was unpleasant.

…Or anything less than appropriate. Twistedly appealing even, not that Nezumi’s sure why _Shion_ would actually want to waste such a powerful bond on him.

         “…Soulmates?” Shion asks staring way too honestly into Nezumi’s eyes and Nezumi stumbles up so fast that he accidentally honks the horn of the car in the process.

         “Fuck—ing!” 

         He falls back into Shion’s lap just as Shion’s apologizing repeatedly, shaking his head so fast it seems to blur. 

         “I’m sorry I don’t know why I said that—I was just looking at you and I thought—oh. That was forward—I mean— You’ve seemed to appreciate my honesty in the past so I thought I’d—“

         “Who says that. Who…actually says that? _Out loud_?”

         Shion’s blushing to his ears. “I was caught up in the heat of the moment I—probably should have thought that out more, admittedly considering the circumstance this was probably—“ 

         “Probably a little too fast,” Nezumi completes, still very much on Shion’s lap.

         Oh.

         “Yes,” Shion replies.

         Nezumi painfully gets up, careful to avoid the horn and ceiling and moves back to his seat. He rests his forehead in his hands.

         “Soulmates. Really?” he mumbles, still recovering, and Shion coughs, tapping his hands on the steering wheel.

         His quiet solo is the only sound in the car. Nezumi risks a glance at Shion’s embarrassed face. He’s so flustered it’s almost sweet.

         Nezumi smiles, barely. “I can’t say I’ve ever been called that before.”

         “I haven’t called anyone that before either,” Shion mumbles.

         Nezumi shakes his head, swallowing an unexpectedly genuine laugh. _Shion_. “So what do we do now?”

         “…Can you tell me about yourself? More?”

         Nezumi’s smile fades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School's started again. Meaning it's been more than a year since I've started this fic. Thanks to everyone who's been with me on this epic mess.
> 
> The story is likely coming to a close soon, but it isn't the last thing I'll write for No.6. Or if I'm being totally honest, the last of this AU.


	22. Potential Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thirst.png

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY, IT'S THE 22ND CHAPTER AND I'M UPDATING...ON THE 22ND.
> 
> 100% planned.

         “If you don’t mind—“ Shion babbles as Nezumi picks up the GPS and shakes it once pathetically. He wills it to work, but alas. “I’m just interested in knowing more about you. It doesn’t have to be anything big—we can start small. What about—“ 

        Nezumi releases the cursed thing and presses his palms to his closed eyes. His eyelashes are wet and still dripping. Fuck today.

         “—your family—”

        Something in Nezumi’s soul sputters and stills like a broken propeller. 

        Nope.

        He grunts loudly, cutting Shion off. Is this what he’s come to? Resorting to caveman communication? He considers snarling ‘No talk. Nezumi done.’ But there’s a line to these things.

 _This is my limit,_ he realizes. _I can’t do any more of this right now._

         “Shion,” Nezumi starts. The bottom of his hands are not supplying near enough pressure to kill the headache forming under his eyelids. “Hotel first. Feelings later. Alright?”

         “Of course.”  Shion says, quickly, as if recoiling from a burn. “I didn’t mean to--”

         “It’s fine,” Nezumi soothes, voice a half-step above a whisper. “Not your fault.”

        Shion doesn’t reply, and Nezumi refuses to lower his hands to examine his face. He can imagine it well enough— Shion’s mouth slightly open, head tilted just a little in confusion, tongue sparking with so many questions he’s going to get lost. They’ll all come out at once, of course, and Nezumi will tease them away, one by one. 

        But no sound comes from his companion’s direction.

        Instinct reassures him that Shion’s still watching— the hair on the back of Nezumi’s neck stands on end as physical proof. The distant sound of a car alarm going off in a neighboring parking lot echoes through the windows. Realization settles deep in Nezumi’s stomach— Shion’s _choosing_ not to ask because he’s waiting for _him_ to answer.

        Nezumi’s not the only one who’s learned how the other works, it seems. He forces himself to speak.

         “Just because my eyes are covered doesn’t mean I can’t feel you gawking, Shion. Let’s get moving.”

        _Please._

        Nezumi hears the scrape of keys against the dashboard and the tell-tale sound of the engine thrumming to life. The car slushes out of the gas station, tires splashing through the puddles of water built up at the curb. Nezumi doesn’t hear the windshield wipers, so he can only assume that the still-drizzling rain must be easy enough to see through.

        His hands fall to his sides as Nezumi melts into the almost-rhythmic whoosh of the cars driving alongside them. Motion replaces stillness and Nezumi’s eyes open slowly. For a moment, everything is a blur of mechanical grey and rainy glow; headlights shine beside them with a misty halo; a dark cellphone tower looms menacingly in an empty lot, red light at the top blinking steadily.

        Nezumi realizes the view is pretty, in a developing-world kind of way. Still, he would prefer the sight of something natural, trees, flowers, water—

        Water.

        “Sorry,” Nezumi finds himself saying, quite against his will. 

         “What?”

         “For the beach and—for the beach.”

        The impulse to elaborate is there, but quickly mashed down. To say anything would just be an excuse at this point. 

         “Can we go back? Tomorrow?”

        _Don’t plan for tomorrow, we’re on a road trip you’re not supposed to decide that much in advance— Screw it._

        Nezumi finds himself nodding. A solid plan sounds good right about now.

        “I’m glad. I hope it rains again,” Shion remarks offhandedly.

         “Haven’t you been drenched enough already?”

         “No.” The idiot grins and then adds in a softer voice, “I’m making up for lost time, I think.”

        Nezumi forces a laugh. “I don’t see how getting soaked is ‘making up’ for anything. Most people would trade that experience out for something better." 

         “The rain feels good and I like it. I don’t want to trade it out.” There’s a little heat behind Shion’s words and something brilliant flashes behind his eyes. Nezumi finds himself focusing for a little too long on Shion’s eyelashes of all things—just a little longer than he expects. His stomach flips rebelliously.

         “Want to pull over and we can find some puddles for you to splash in?”

        Shion actually seems to consider it. “I don’t think it would be the same. It has to be a storm.”

          “Oh, look at you, being specific.”

         “Are you making fun of me?” Shion frowns.

         “Maybe. Haven’t decided yet." 

        Shion grumbles, and Nezumi finds himself chuckling. Flirting. _Huh_.

        Glancing out the window, Nezumi spots a billboard about a minute away. It’s advertising some fast-food chain that he can’t determine looks appealing or disgusting. Nezumi’s a half-second away from asking for a second opinion when—

         “I just think—“ Shion announces, enthusiasm obviously draining his articulacy. “I just think travelling and feeling what’s around us is what it is like to be alive, so we should experience it. Fully! And the rain just makes it…more. More—something.”

        He weakens, “Maybe I’m glamourizing it.”

        Nezumi fights a laugh. “You probably are.”

        Shion shrugs his shoulders before glancing behind them and changing lanes. “I’m okay with that, I think.”

        _Huh_ , Nezumi thinks again. He finds he’s okay with it too.

        The back of the fast-food billboard is blank, but still lit. Nezumi wonders what they’ll hang up there. He wonders if it even matters. Occasionally he feels Shion’s eyes on him, as he looks out the window. He tries to visualize them, a warm purple, like melted grape candy—

        Nezumi chokes on his own air. What the fuck does that even _mean_?

         “Are you okay?” Shion asks frantically over Nezumi’s sudden coughing fit.

        Nezumi only waves a hand, hurriedly compartmentalizing every feeling having to do with fucking _grape candy_ to some dark corner of his mind where they’ll never be touched or analyzed again. Travel with Shion for a little bit and suddenly he’s a poet. _Shit._

        The car passes by a particularly sketchy video store, and Shion announces far too loudly, “Since the GPS is down, we’ll likely have to take whatever hotel we see first.”

         “That’s fine. If you can take it.” Nezumi warns, having gathered himself enough to reflect on the luxury chamber that was Inukashi’s house. It really didn’t make much of a difference to _have_ a GPS.

         “I’ve liked everywhere we’ve stayed so far, I don’t think it will be a problem.” Shion grins. Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

         “You have a high-tolerance for cracked walls and rodents.”

        Shion snorts, shaking his head. “It’s not that, I just think it’s worth it. Travelling. And it’s nice to have a bed, even if it’s a little hard.”

        _Just don’t think of who’s been there first—_ Nezumi swallows his comment, seeing Shion’s soft smile.

         “What are you making that face for?" 

        Shion’s smile fades.

        “I’m happy,” he announces quietly. He fiddles with the air conditioner knob uncertainly. “I don’t know. Is that a problem?”   

         “No,” Nezumi says over the pang of guilt in his stomach. “That’s a good thing.”

        Shion brightens immediately. “Yes. It is, isn’t it? How strange.”

         “ _You’re_ the strange one.” Nezumi says, waving a hand and noticing the way Shion’s eyes glaze slightly at the motion. What is he thinking about? “Shion?”

        Shion’s ‘ah?’ is almost lost over the sound of a car honking behind them. Shion’s eyes widen marginally as they snap to the road. 

        Nezumi twists in his seat, resting his back against the door, so he can look at Shion’s profile. It’s stupid perfect, illuminated by the muted yellow of the streetlights outside the window. The same hazy shine that catches the raindrops on the glass silhouettes Shion’s honest features and accentuates his slightly swollen lips.

        Shion catches his eyes and Nezumi loses his words.

        20 minutes ago, they were kissing.

        It’s a simple enough realization, but Nezumi half-expects the ball to drop now that he’s let himself acknowledge it. Now’s the moment for the ground to crack underneath them as the god of road trips appears in the sky and shouts at Nezumi that he has spat on the most sacred of all rules: _don’t kiss your travel companion, especially not in the fucking car_ — but.

        But no.

        They kissed— yet the car moves forward, the drizzle falls, and the world, a little softer than usual, stays where it is for once.

        It’s okay. 

        “I’m going to take a nap now,” Nezumi announces, feeling strangely lighter. “You mind?”

         “No, you rest,” Shion offers, warmly. His hair is almost completely dry and starting to regain some generalized fluffiness. Nezumi wants to touch it, but Shion would probably crash the car. Not worth it. He adjusts against the door, trying to find a way to rest his head on his arm without cutting off his circulation. 

         “You should use the rain poncho. Keep warm that way,” Shion declares just as Nezumi settles in.

        He almost whines about having to move again, but the easy sound of Shion’s voice drains Nezumi’s bite. It’s all he can do to mumble,  “Can’t have your gift going to waste,” as he feels blindly for the plastic package that fell to the floor earlier.

         “Open it up!” Shion insists.

        Deliberately avoiding eye-contact with the dentist-bright smile of the man on the front, Nezumi complies, tearing the tape off the back of the package. Surprisingly, the fabric of the poncho is smooth and soft, closer to cotton than any sort of typical scratchy water-proof material. Nezumi rubs a bit of the dark-grey material together with his index finger and thumb, and finds it makes no sound.

         “You sure this is a rain poncho? Doesn’t feel like one.”

         “It uses a special fiber! I’m very curious to see how it handles the rain!”

        Nezumi snorts. “Shion, you really shouldn’t buy gifts for yourself and then give them to other people.”

        — _You might make them cry,_ he thinks, a little too realistically. He unfolds the poncho and wraps it around himself like a blanket. He’s not wearing it correctly but he can’t bring himself to care because the weight feels right on his shoulders and he’s accidentally nestled himself perfectly into the golden spot between door and seat and can’t risk ruining this prime position with movement. 

        “Thanks. I should have said so before but…” Nezumi offers Shion a weak nod before letting his eyes slip shut. He’s so _tired_.

        Shion doesn’t reply. Nezumi tries valiantly to nap when he realizes he’s accepted the gift automatically. He forgot. For the briefest of moments he forgot.

         “Shion?”

         “Yes?” Shion’s reply is quiet, as though he’s concerned Nezumi might already be asleep.

        “I’ll pay you back for this,” Nezumi whispers seriously.

        Shion shakes his head, determined. “You don’t have to, it was a gift.“

         “I’ll pay you back.” Nezumi repeats, with finality. “I don’t like owing people.”

         “Can you exp—“ Shion starts, and Nezumi can hear the question forming so he goes ahead and answers it before Shion can ask.

         “It bothers me. I’ve told you before—I don’t trust a free lunch. It forms an attachment and those get messy.”

        Shion’s frown can probably be read from space. “You have so many rules for yourself Nezumi.”

        Nezumi thinks of thin grey hair and an empty smile. “I know.”

        Shion’s unspoken _why_ hovers between them. This sort of conversation should be normal, shouldn’t it? Talking about feelings. History. Yet the mere idea of baring that much of himself to Shion makes Nezumi shake a little. Maybe Shion will finally get why this isn’t going to work. 

        The idea nearly cracks Nezumi again. He swallows and forces the words out of his throat before he can regret them.

         “They’re more of a compulsion than anything.”

        Shion’s eyes on are on him in an instant. “What?”

         “Rules like that. I had more, when I was younger. About relationships, or values. It was training—more or less. For what I thought was the real world, but really was just someone else’s idea of it.”

         “Whose?”

        Nezumi pulls the stupid rain poncho a little tighter around him. “My grandmother. She wasn’t wrong about most things. Slightly misguided though.”

        It feels strange to say out loud. Wrong. Nezumi wavers.

         “I don’t know, Shion. People are terrible. They’ll sell you out in a heartbeat if someone pays them. They’re really only looking after themselves, and anyone who pretends not to be is a convincing liar. They’re doomed to hurt each other, and the only way to avoid that is to—stay away. Keep yourself safe. That’s how it is.”

        Nezumi stops, rubbing his head. Why is he talking, and not sleeping? This was a stupid plan.

        Shion doesn’t let him off the hook. “Do you really believe that, Nezumi?”

        Nezumi shuts his eyes and sighs, lowly. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I wish I could.”

         “That’s oversimplifying things.” Shion comments, and there’s a shocking lack of judgment in it. “You’re ignoring everything complicated and just picking what’s easiest.”

        The laugh that lodges in his throat catches Nezumi off-guard. “Sometimes, Shion, _sometimes_ , you just say the most remarkably cruel things, you know that?”

        Shion blinks. “What?”

         “But so do I.” Nezumi opens his eyes and faces the wide road in front of them. “So I guess I can’t blame you.”

        They drive the rest of the way in silence.


	23. Grit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motels, shouldering, and over-thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO SORRY ABOUT THE WAIT. This is a LONG chapter so I hope it's worth it.

Nezumi dreams of sunsets. Beaches. Stars. Light and rain and wind. 

             A breath.

             “Show me.”

             A hand—no, a person— is beside him. Long fingers brush his cheek. A pressure on his lips simultaneously jumpstarts his brain and fills it with steam. Someone is kissing him—someone is _breathing against his lips_. His body jolts into semi-consciousness, adrenaline surging through his bloodstream. He sucks in a sharp breath of air though his nose, presses his palms against his assailant’s chest and _shoves._

             “Nezu—augh!?”

             Nezumi knows this voice. Shit _._

             He curls his fingers in Shion’s shirt and pulls, hard, to keep the ex-student from hitting his head on the car window. Shion pitches forward at the force of his tug, but thankfully has the preservation instinct to catch himself by gripping the wheel.

             “Shion, what the hell?”

             “That was—a poor decision,” Shion manages to get out. His hand rests delicately on his heart; Nezumi can’t shake the image of a dainty Southern belle in need of smelling salts.

             “You okay?” he asks, worry overtaking his foggy rage. “Didn’t hit your head?”

             Shion shakes his head. Good, now that he’s safe, Nezumi can kill him.

             “I didn’t mean to scare— “ Sensing murderous intent, Shion shuts his mouth and attempts to sidle up to the opposite car door. Nezumi does not allow him such freedom.

             “I wasn’t scared. I was startled,” Nezumi growls—a meaningful distinction that’s clearly lost on Shion as the idiot relaxes in his grip.

             “You said my name,” Shion mumbles, and Nezumi’s eyebrow twitches.

             “What?”

             “You said: ‘Shion, look’. I wanted to see what you were seeing too so I thought I might encourage you to elaborate.” 

             Nezumi releases Shion’s collar to rub a hand over his face, eyes still adjusting to the dull darkness of the car. “So, taking reasonable action, you planted one on me while I was sleeping?”           

             Shion has the decency to blush, sinking back into his seat. “Since my words weren’t getting through to you I thought physical sensation would. It’s not that…I— Well…”

             Nezumi crosses his arms and Shion seems to shrink.

             “I’m…just covering up. I’m sorry. There wasn’t anything reasonable about it, I just wanted to kiss you and it seemed like a logical decision at the time. I am very tired.” Shion babbles, breaking eye contact in order to pathetically rest his forehead on the wheel. “Very tired.”

             Nezumi watches the slope of his shoulders for a moment, and just like that, he remembers he is tired too. He rests his cheek against the cool window, giving up.

             _This is pathetic; we’re pathetic._

             “What time is it?” he asks, dumbly.

             “4:47 am,” Shion replies, without raising his head. “Did I just make a horrible mistake?”

             “A mistake, yes. Horrible…?” Nezumi pauses for effect, and Shion tenses. “No. Barely. I’m glad I didn’t accidentally punch you, now _that_ would be bad. That’s what happens to people who sneak up on me.” 

             Shion’s shoulders relax, but he still doesn’t bother to sit up. Nezumi clicks his tongue thoughtfully and glances outside. The world feels still. Everything is always so stupidly still at this hour. Nezumi finds himself speaking again, if only to add some motion to the world. “Work on your timing, and it’ll be more pleasant for both of us.” 

             Shion turns sharply, eyes radiating zeal of all things. There’s a little imprint on his face from the wheel and Nezumi feels a regret headache coming on.

             “Now isn’t the time either, Your Royal Impulsiveness.”

             “But I can kiss you later?”

             _Wow_ , Nezumi thinks, very clearly. _Smooth_.

             Shion looks like he just wrote the wrong formula on the blackboard and knows it. He ducks his head. 

             “Timing. I messed up the timing again, didn’t I?” 

             “Let’s get you to bed, Shion,” Nezumi announces, detangling the poncho still sloppily wrapped around his shoulders and unlocking the door. 

             Multicolored advertisements and streetlights illuminate the almost-empty motel parking lot. The letters “M” “O” and “T” flicker uncertainly beside their burnt out brethren. Shion found them a cheap place all right—but god, what’s the real cost?

             The inside of the motel is worse than the outside, something Nezumi truly believed to be impossible. Shion holds the door open, looking so spent Nezumi almost forgives him for dooming them to a gruesome death at the hands of one of the five axe-murderers that likely reside in this sketchy establishment. Almost.

            A bouquet of dead flowers sits on the front desk next to a slip of paper displaying the nightly rate. Nezumi scowls at it—robbery— before ringing the bell. Shion pokes at one of the flower petals and it makes a soft crunching sound under his touch before falling off completely. Nezumi leans against the counter, drumming his hands.

             “Purple carnations and red roses. Sexy.”

             “They’re wilted,” Shion observes. Nezumi rolls his eyes.

             “Got any other groundbreaking observations to share with the class, Shion?”

             “Just that they need new water, and I just drove for several hours while you napped comfortably in the seat next to me.”

             “Blissfully, I might add.” 

             Shion elbows him roughly just as a man stumbles out of the back room. His clothing is loose and incorrectly buttoned, and his hair—what’s left of it—is sweaty and mussed. Nezumi tries not to think of _why_ as the man straightens up, adjusts his red bowtie, and offers them a skeevy business smile that screams, ‘I just got laid’.

 _What a toad,_ Nezumi thinks without effort.

             “Admiring my flowers, I see— you have good taste, gentlemen! Five dollars and they’re yours, I’ve got fresh ones coming tonight!”

             His breath reeks of alcohol. Even Shion takes a suspicious step back, although he maintains his polite smile. Nezumi does not.

             “What use could I possibly have for poorly-arranged, crunchy carnations?”

             The man flinches as though Nezumi actually decided to slug him across the counter, instead of just mull it over. “Why, I don’t believe it! Your sharp tongue doesn’t match your face at all, boy!” 

             _Does this guy even work here?_

             “I do so hate to disappoint an old to—” Nezumi starts, mental filter long dissolved, but Shion steps in front of him before he can continue.

             “Do you have any available rooms for the night?”

             “Now there’s a boy with some manners,” the creep praises, looking Shion over. “I have rooms. Just one room, now?”

             Shion nods, and the man tsks his tongue.

             “You could do better. Sweet kid like you with a man like that—“

             “I don’t think that’s any of your concern.” Shion says, without losing his smile. Nezumi finds himself grinning victoriously. It might be sleep deprivation, but he throws an arm around Shion just to be obnoxious.

             “Sticking up for me, aw, _thanks_ honey!” he announces in the most saccharine voice he can manage, pecking Shion on the cheek for good measure. His skin is soft. Smooth too. Shion blinks. Nezumi abruptly wonders if he’s made a grievous error but Shion’s eyes flash with drowsy understanding. 

             “No—No problem at all. Anything for you, _dear_!” he gushes just a little too loudly, face contorting into a creepy-doll grin. He pats Nezumi’s shoulder as if he’s prodding a rather large, but friendly bear. It takes Nezumi half a second to realize it’s supposed to be an intimate gesture, and he covers Shion’s hand with his own before things get uncomfortable.

             “Right, “ the motel owner comments after a long moment. He’s clearly seen worse. “Pay up then.”

             “Naturally,” Nezumi sparkles anyway, untangling from Shion and digging for his wallet.

             “Is that a wig you’re wearing or a hat? That what the kids’re into now?”

             “Neither. It’s my natural hair,” Shion replies, resting his hand on the desk before he’s handed the sign-in sheet. The man’s nose twitches like a hungry dog and Shion writes their names. His hands move quickly—he’s not graceful exactly—but there is a certain ease to his motions. Nezumi sets the money on the counter and slips an arm around his companion’s waist before the old man can get more questions out.

             “See you tomorrow morning then, _sir_ ,” Nezumi gushes, turning Shion toward their room.

             “Tomorrow evening, more like,” the man mutters, clearly disappointed. “You aware of what time it is?”

             “Nope!” Nezumi lies, shouting behind them. “On a journey!” 

             Shion shuts the door quietly as Nezumi untucks the covers on the motel bed. Something crunches under his fingers and he notices the mattress is wrapped in a thin plastic cover. 

             _Sanitary._

             “How was my acting?” Shion asks, leaning against the doorframe. Nezumi almost cracks up at the pride in his voice.

             “Well, you were indismissable, I’ll give you that.”

             Shion grins cheekily and throws himself on the bed beside Nezumi, mattress-plastic cackling vengefully.

             “This bed is very loud,” he observes.

             Nezumi snorts, tossing one of the several covers over Shion’s prone form. “I know, go to sleep.”

             Shion doesn’t even attempt to get under any of the other covers, satisfied with the sheet sloppily draped over his face. Something tells Nezumi he could probably startle him badly if he chose to, but he kills the idea quickly, laying his head on the lone pillow beside Shion’s pile.

             “Comfy?” Nezumi asks the sheet-and-Shion hybrid, and receives a questionable thumbs up from the airhead underneath. Nezumi eyes it for a moment before Shion pops out of the cream-colored shroud, bangs mussed.

             “Do you like flowers?” he asks, and even though Nezumi tries to hide the way his body tenses, the mattress crinkles damningly.

             “I’m not planning on getting you any right now, don’t worry,” Shion huffs. “I was just thinking, you called those flowers poorly-arranged and they looked fine to me.”

             “Does anything get past you?” 

             “Of course. Many, many things.” Shion announces, shifting back so his face is nestled in the pillows once more. He waves an arm behind him. “I’ve been told I’m not very perceptive, but I don’t know. I think I’m pretty good at judging people. You don’t have to answer if you feel uncomfortable. I’m tired.”

             “You’ve already said all of that, you know.”

             Shion’s eyes open, he crosses his arms as if trying to remember. Nezumi tries to keep his face neutral. “You’re really something, Shion.”

             “I don’t know,” Shion mumbles, eyes flicking toward Nezumi, uncertainly. “I’m not that different from anyone else.”

             What an idiot. “You’re practically an alien, Shion.”

             “Well fine, I suppose I’d best accept your rare compliment before you somehow morph it into a horrible insult,” Shion grumbles. He manages to maintain the grumpy face for a solid three seconds before breaking into a grin. Nezumi’s entire body feels vaguely like it’s been bathed in sunlight. He finds himself smiling fondly back, even though Shion’s comeback was frustratingly solid. They breathe together for a moment before Shion adjusts and pulls the sheet tighter around himself. “I guess we’d better sleep now,” he comments.

             “Right,” Nezumi acquiesces, feeling vaguely like he missed something.

             Shion’s hair contrasts just slightly with the off-white pillow. A too-long strand rests over one of his light eyelashes, barely touching the top of his cheek—Nezumi stares at it.

             _What’s stopping me?_ he wonders. 

             He catches the hair gently between his fingers, and brushes it back. It’s easy. Shion’s eyes flutter open instantly. Nezumi jerks his hand away. 

             “Yeah, I like flowers,” he blurts.

             “Flowers.” Shion repeats, blinking. “That’s interesting.”

             Nezumi turns speedily, tucking himself under the blankets. “It’s not. You’re just easily fascinated.”

             “Maybe, I am.” Shion muses, clearly not upset at having his attempt to sleep interrupted. He rubs his chin. “But I don’t think so. It’s just you, and all the little things about you, that I find so interesting. I wonder why?”

             “Infatuation?”

             Shion scowls a little, knee jerking against Nezumi’s like he’s trying to kick him without hurting him at all. “If this is infatuation, it’s a lot less fun than I’ve been led to believe.”

             “You’re not having fun?” Nezumi asks over his shoulder.

             Shion rolls his eyes, “You’re moody and sarcastic and I’ve never been more aware of my own inadequacy, so no, I think it’s safe to say I’m not having fun. I’m probably losing my mind.”

             “Yeah, you probably are,” Nezumi jokes, but Shion doesn’t laugh.

             “I made you cry today.”

             Nezumi’s mouth goes dry.

             “It’s fine,” he says, once again turning so his back is to Shion. He can still feel his gaze burning a hole right between his shoulder blades.

             “I don’t know if I regret—no. No, I know I don’t regret it. I feel like I got to know you a little better because of it. I feel like my presence pushes you, like yours pushes me, but if I’m hurting you, Nezumi, I… Am I hurting you? I know I don’t want that—”

             “Stop thinking so much,” Nezumi says, wanting more than anything to scream _, I don’t know_ and just be done with this whole sorry episode. He forces a smile. “Just sleep it off, Shion. Figure it out yourself.”

             Shion makes a sound that might be a sigh, but Nezumi hears him lay back down just the same. It’s too late to discuss these things, anyway.

             _Then when can we discuss them?_ Nezumi imagines Shion asking.

             He shuts his eyes tighter. _Never. Is Never good with you?_

             Nezumi doesn’t want sympathy. He doesn’t need it. It won’t do anything, because it never has. So why does Shion force these things? Can’t he just be satisfied with what he has?

             Shion shifts beside him and something weak stirs in Nezumi.

             _Do you even hear the things that come out of your mouth, Shion?_

             _You hand me the tools to tear you apart without a second thought._

             _I’m not afraid to use them._

             _How aren’t you terrified?_

             Shion is still once more.

             Nezumi sighs, and curses under his breath. He’s losing sight of himself. Everything he should be, everything he has to maintain—he’s dropping it all on the floor; it’s certain death.

             And yet…Shion’s still here.

             Like an idiot, Nezumi hasn’t pushed him away.

             He curls up slowly, pressing his palms into his eyes. He _wants_ , on an irrational level he can’t fully comprehend—like water slipping through his fingers—to let Shion know everything he is. He wants to share and that sort of self-destructive behavior can’t be natural.

             Stupid. It’s so stupid.

             _Fuck feelings_ , Nezumi decides, finally lowering his hands to see red peeking through the cheap blinds. The sun is rising. Delightful.

             Shion’s quiet breathing has long since melted into soft snoring, the asshole. Nezumi shifts to get a look at him, careful to mind the plastic. He has one arm tucked underneath his pillow and his legs in a comfortable ‘L’ shape. His lips are a little open. He still manages to look so serious like this, eyebrows just slightly drawn, but body relaxed. Hopelessly vulnerable. Nezumi brushes that one stubborn clump of hair out of his face one more time before making himself sit up. He rests his head against the cheap wood headboard.

             _I really like him,_ he thinks, and it hardly constitutes a proper realization. That fact seemed so unimportant in the car earlier, but now, at dusk, in the semi-darkness of this cheap, cheap motel room it feels as though Nezumi’s made the biggest mistake of his life.

             _I really like him,_ he thinks again.

             _What’s wrong with that?_

             _Everything._

             _Everything?_

             The plastic crinkles beside him and he sees Shion staring up at him, drowsily. Not now. Please.

             “Didn’t mean to wake you.” Nezumi’s voice is softer than he intends. He should be harsh. Should tell him to fuck off. “Go back to sleep.”

             “What are you thinking about?” Shion asks, because he’s Shion and he’s physically incapable of leaving Nezumi the hell alone no matter how harshly he speaks.

             Nezumi can’t reply, and the whole bed creaks as Shion joins him against the headboard.

             “I don’t recall inviting you to this think-tank,” Nezumi states, trying to sound bored as Shion still moves closer to him.

             “I invited myself,” Shion replies, offering his hand, palm-out to Nezumi who reluctantly holds it. He draws their hands to his lips and kisses the back of Shion’s palm, because it’s there, and it’s warm and Nezumi _likes him_ whether he wants to or not.

             He forces himself to let it go.

             “Now sleep. Goodnight, sweet Prince. I mean it.”

             “Are you going to sleep now?”

             Nezumi shakes his head.

             “Then I’ll stay up with you,” Shion declares, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. And then he tucks himself against Nezumi’s side and it does feel easy. Miserably so.

             “You’re an idiot.” Nezumi comments, his arm rebelliously wrapping around Shion’s waist.

             “I know. I’m also foolish, and unprepared for travel, and over-eager.” Shion turns slightly to smile at him and Nezumi feels vaguely like he’s been stabbed.

             “Stop that.”

             “What?” Shion’s eyes widen slightly, and Nezumi continues to metaphorically bleed all over the bedspread. He really doesn’t see it.

             “You’re—“

              _Incredible. Attractive. Radiant._ Nezumi thinks, and he has to pick an adjective to vocalize but everything is too much. _Just say something, Nezumi. Say anything. Just. Fucking talk. Talk. Talk._

             “—not always,” he finishes.

             Shion stares at him and Nezumi feels his entire face burn. He wants to kill something, but Shion just laughs and Nezumi realizes his cheek is on his shoulder.

             “I don’t see you at a loss for words often, Nezumi.”

             “Then you’re not looking close enough lately,” Nezumi grunts.

             Shion smiles, before taking Nezumi’s hand in his own and kissing it softly, just as Nezumi did earlier. Nezumi’s brain sluggishly stutters to a halt, trying to understand the small wet warmth of Shion’s lips, the effortlessness of his touch, the soft shine of his eyes. None of it makes sense, and yet Nezumi instinctively, greedily, wants it to keep going.

             “Shion,” he whispers without thinking. His entire body surges with the impulse for contact. Shion leans closer and watches at him steadily and it’s like breathing in concentrated warmth— fuck Nezumi’s heart is in his ears again, thudding far too quickly.

             He brushes a hand over Shion’s cheek, even though there isn’t any hair there to serve as an excuse, because Nezumi just can’t seem to touch him enough. Shion leans into his palm, and Nezumi’s thumb strokes just under his eye, as if he’s wiping off some invisible tear. What _is_ this? 

             With train-stopping concentration, Nezumi forces his hand down once more. Shion shuts his eyes in resignation, as though he expected Nezumi to pull away like he always has.

             _No,_ Nezumi thinks. _This isn’t fair at all._

             He opens his mouth, puts just a little more distance between them on the bed, and takes a long, deep breath.

             “What do you want to know about me, Shion?”

             Shion’s breath catches, and Nezumi releases a sigh.

             “Are you offering what I think you’re offering?”

             “Sex?” Nezumi returns bluntly, and Shion sputters out so many words at once that they all awkwardly blend together into one, long confused ‘nuuhwhaa?’

             Nezumi puts him out of his misery. “Jokes aside, yeah. I am, probably. You’ve given me quite a wide net with ‘tell me about yourself’; I’d appreciate if you narrowed it. If you have questions—which you obviously do, why am I even asking— I’ll answer. Or try to answer, anyway.”

             “Are you comfortable telling me?”

             His face is unabashedly fascinated. Nezumi grimaces. This is going to be difficult.

             “I’m tired of fighting it. So. Same thing really. Same result. I hate…talking like this. But I’ll do it.”

             “I don’t want to hurt you.”

             “I know.” 

             Shion frowns, takes a moment, and decides.

             “Why flowers?” he asks, and Nezumi nods, because _of course_ this would be Shion’s first real question. He’s obsessed tonight and his instinct really is too good to be true.

             “My parents were florists,” Nezumi admits, holding up a finger to cut Shion’s next question off—jeez, he’s locked and loaded already. “And before you comment, yes that’s how I knew about the flowers earlier. I grew up with it. Can’t remember everything well, but I know when an arrangement looks right. It’s in my blood or something.” 

             “Florists,” Shion seems to test the word on his tongue and Nezumi feels skinless. “That’s amazing!”

             “It really isn’t,” Nezumi starts and Shion glares at him. He shuts up, raising his hands in compliance. “Go ahead, Your Majesty. Praise my noble heritage.”

             Shion refuses the bait. “Why do you travel?”

             Nezumi hesitates, looks up at the ceiling. There’s a brownish stain there, looking like a water pipe started to leak at some point.

             “I think I already answered that one. I like to. I—did more when I was younger. I dropped out of high school, you know.” Nezumi smiles slightly, but there’s no life in it. “Bet that bothers you, brainiac.”

             “It doesn’t bother me,” Shion says, and Nezumi nearly winces at his sincerity.

             “Yeah well, I got my GED later. So school worked out. Not that I’m sticking to my college plan, anymore. Kind of a moot point.”

             “You can always go back.” 

             “I’m tired of that. I feel like no matter how far I get I’m—“ Nezumi hesitates. He licks his lips. “I’m always doubling back around to chase nothing, if that makes sense to you. Ha, we’re similar in that way. You wanted to go back to how things were before you got sick and I… I wanted to go back to when things were nicer too. Of course, that wasn’t an option, and when I realized I couldn’t go back—I wanted to move as far away as possible.”

             “So you travelled.” 

             “So I travelled,” Nezumi confirms. 

             “You said you didn’t find anything, though.” 

             Nezumi’s mouth quirks. “You’ve got a mind like a steel trap, you know that? No. I didn’t find anything, because there was nothing to find. No answers, or satisfying villains, or heroes, only solid, real life. And that probably was the worst part.” 

             It hurts to admit. Nezumi shuts his eyes, feeling his smile fade into something disgustingly honest.

             “I don’t understand,” Shion says.

             “Of course you don’t. I haven’t explained the big one, you couldn’t possibly know.” Nezumi struggles to keep his voice light. He pretends this doesn’t matter, pretends he isn’t pouring his heart out to his fucking travelling companion. He pulls his knees to his chest. “Cheap apartments.”

             “What?”

             Nezumi keeps his voice level. “Fire spreads quickly, in a cheap apartment. Florists—aren’t exactly loaded. Or particularly good at running."

             Shion is painfully still. The brown spot doesn’t move either. 

             “Your scar…” 

             “I got burned. My grandmother grabbed me and jumped out the window. I don’t know why my parents waited. They might have been worried about my sister—she was still an infant, probably couldn’t have survived a fall like that, even if she was carried. I don’t know. They hesitated, the ceiling caved, and that was that.”

             Nezumi registers Shion’s arms around him, but they feel far away.

             “I didn’t know them that well. After that it was my grandmother and I. She did the majority of my raising until she didn’t anymore.”

             He swallows.

             “She really hated the building, she was always—collecting names, quizzing me on the people inside. She wanted to find out who started the damn fire but—it was impossible. There are too many potential causes, too many people. I think she knew, but it gave her life some sort of meaning."

             “What happened to her, Nezumi?”

             Nezumi is quiet. Shion’s arms tighten around him and he leans in, unable to resist the warmth. “Finding the bad guy didn’t give her meaning any more, I guess. She gave up.”

             There's a hand brushing through his hair— Shion's. Nezumi wonders if he understands or not. He has to be clear about these things or Shion will just ask him more questions. He has to be specific. Definite.

             “She died, Shion,” Nezumi says flatly. 

             It’s all he can manage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updates should hopefully come faster now.


	24. Release

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations you shouldn't have in a motel bedroom. Also Skype.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I hope this is worth the wait. Warnings from the last chapter still apply. c':  
> Megucahomo's still editing this for me. Thanks megucahomo. You a'ight.

         “I’m sorry,” Shion murmurs and Nezumi vaguely realizes he’s being pressed into the perfect indent of his companion’s shoulder. It is warm and familiar. He could probably live here for a while if Shion let him; he could probably live here forever. 

         Nezumi sighs loudly at his stupid sentimentality. His entire body feels wonderfully clear with the exhale so he sighs again, because this emptiness is starting to feel like fresh air, or loud waterfalls, or the slow, wonderful burn of fucking daylight. 

         He wants to tug Shion closer, wrap around him and _sigh_ until he’s hollow inside, no rules in his head, no scars on his back, no memories or nightmares that tangle and cement until he can’t hear his own heartbeat. He can just be Nezumi. The person that Shion said he was in the car, palm out: just flesh and blood and feelings.

         _Don’t sigh for others. Don’t rely on others._

         Her criticisms seem to echo in his head. Nezumi’s hit with the uncharacteristic urge to apologize like she isn’t dead and can actually hear him.

         He sloppily tries to wiggle out of Shion’s hold and Shion releases him slowly like it’s actually hard. His hands brush down Nezumi’s shoulders, trailing all the way down his elbows. Nezumi almost thinks he’ll leave a mark, long fingers forming little dark dots all the way down his arms. He doesn’t. Nezumi’s skin is pale and clean as always, and just a little bit warmer.

         “Thank you for telling me,” Shion whispers, hands squeezing painlessly just above Nezumi’s wrist. He lets go. His face is close, but his arms settle smoothly into his lap and Nezumi fights a groan because _of course_ he misses them now, after he’s sent them away.

         “I’m not done yet.”

         Nezumi presses his back against the headboard, regretting the sentence as soon as it leaves his lips. Just finish the story. Just finish it.

         _I found her body._

The words don’t come. They burn up somewhere on their way out of his mouth. They must have not been the right ones.

         _She didn’t look satisfied. I don’t know why she would do it, Shion, if she didn’t even look satisfied at the end._  

Not right either. Too dramatic for what he’s feeling. He needs facts, something calculated and blunt; something she would be proud of.

         “She didn’t leave a mess,” Nezumi says at last. The statement is so cold, so utterly devoid of _anything_ that he almost laughs. It’s absolutely perfect.

         “That’s really all I can say about her,” Nezumi announces, tilting his head to look Shion’s way. Nezumi can’t read his features properly, they seem to be locked into patience and understanding. He feels something in him wither.

         “Maybe a small mess,” he amends. _Me_.

         “Nezumi,” Shion starts to say, but seems to think better of continuing. He closes his mouth, clutching lightly at the fabric of his jeans; Nezumi realizes they never changed for bed.

         “Don’t look so upset. I didn’t know her that well so I can afford to be like this. I was a child, and it was miserable and sad, but that was it. It happened. It’s behind me.”

         “You don’t have to explain, I understand.”

         _I understand._

         Nezumi’s entire body tenses. He’s only slightly surprised by the anger that needles through him at the fluffy sentiment. It isn’t Shion’s fault, but somehow it is.

         The words slide through his teeth, sharpened, ready to hurt. “Of course you do. Naturally.” 

         Shion flinches. Shame bursts through Nezumi with the effectiveness of a rifle bullet. What the hell is he doing?

         “I—“

         “Sorry,” Nezumi interrupts, not wanting to hear Shion kindly apologize for something he’s not guilty of. “That wasn’t about—“

         “Let me finish." 

         It’s a command. Nezumi’s breath catches, the air around him feels incredibly dangerous for the briefest of moments and then it changes. It reforms, settling into something so _communicable_ Nezumi’s head spins, mesmerized. 

         “I worded that poorly. I understand your _distance_ , is what I meant to say.” Shion tugs at a strand of his hair. “It’s not really distance. It’s more than that. I know that feeling. Not—the circumstance, but the…“ Shion trails off.

         “Shion?”

         “I was thinking. My father left when I was young,” he confesses. “He was a drunk and a womanizer but other than a handful of vague memories of him in the house, I didn’t know him. My mom doesn’t talk about him, and I don’t ask. There are things, though, things that were his that turn up occasionally, and then I start to wonder— that’s not my point.”

         He shakes his head. Nezumi can practically hear him admonishing himself. He almost speaks, tells him to just let go, stop stifling himself and say what he means when Shion holds up a hand.

         “I’m not articulate like you. I don’t know how to say this properly, but I know what it feels like to live with the memory of someone who’s not there. I know what it means to not feel anything about that, but to still feel a lot about it as well. I don’t mean to compare at all, I just. I understand, not knowing how to feel. You don’t have to try and make that make sense for me.”

         Nezumi swallows, watching Shion’s hands and how they’ve wandered up to scratch the back of his neck. How can he open up so easily?

         “I understand,” Nezumi says finally, because how does one even begin to reply to that. “For the record, starting an argument saying you’re inarticulate really damages your credibility.”

         Shion grins. “I’ll be sure to start off bragging next time then.”

         “Good, good.” Nezumi squeezes Shion’s shoulder, hoping it captures a fraction of what he’s feeling when he realizes he hasn’t even began to articulate. “Thanks.”

         Shion shakes his head, and he’s starting to look like he’s about to say, _no Nezumi thank you,_ and if he pulls them into an uncomfortable appreciation circle Nezumi might have to smack him with motel pillow.

         “I’ve forgotten something important,” Nezumi interrupts, remembering his character at last.

         “What?” 

         “Why, the archetypical old man that saves the hero’s life, of course. All great stories have to have one, don’t they?”

         Shion’s expression is a battle between rolling his eyes and leaping on the chance to learn more. “Does yours?”

         “Of course. My ex-neighbor from the apartment. He plucked me out foster care like a true champion. No, not a champion. More of an idealist. Reminds me a bit of someone I know, now that I think about it.”

         He elbows Shion lightly, picking himself up in order to take some weight off the headboard he’s been pressed against hard enough to break. The plastic underneath them crackles grumpily and Nezumi looks at it. “Could this bed be any louder?”

         “It sounds like it’s complaining,” Shion thoughtfully announces. He stretches his legs out, hands slipping out of his lap; one of them keeps drifting dangerously close to Nezumi’s. 

         “I’d complain too if I was a bed here.”

          Shion laughs like the comment was genuinely funny and Nezumi tangles their fingers because _dammit_ _Shion go back to sleep._ There’s a soft pressure from Shion squeezing his hand in greeting and Nezumi lies down, tugging the idiot with him.

         “No pity,” he says. “I mean it.”

         Shion head-butts his shoulder; it actually hurts a little. Is Shion physically incapable of holding back anything? “I wouldn’t look down on you like that. I couldn’t.”

         Nezumi knows. He releases Shion’s hand and throws the large blanket over them so they’re appropriately covered this time, even though the thin sheet has long since migrated around Shion’s feet. He hasn’t moved. His warm forehead remains pressed against the slight curve of muscle on Nezumi’s arm, white bangs tickling his skin like down feathers.

         _I know you’re not that tired Shion. You’ve actually slept._

         “I am glad however,” Shion comments, as Nezumi contemplates the risks and benefits of losing this admittedly pleasant view in order to comfortably sleep on his side.

         “Why?”

         “The way you talked about your adoptive father. You care about him. I’m glad you have someone like that.”

         What? If Nezumi’s being honest, which he is, always, of course, he tries _not_ to think of Rou. And to actually _care_ about him? That’s not…

         “He lost a lot in the fire too so he— he gets it. What it’s like.” Nezumi licks his lips. “He’s not my father, and he won’t ever be, so don’t make up stories that aren’t ours. He let me travel around and encouraged it. I’m grateful for that.” 

         “That was nice of him,” Shion says, like he wants Nezumi to continue even though Nezumi has nothing else to say.

         ‘”He likes…mice?” Nezumi blurts, uselessly, trying to give Shion some picture of the man who essentially raised him. There’s probably about 60 more interesting things about Rou, but that’s the first one that comes out, and he sticks to it. Shion chuckles.

         “He sounds kind.”

         “He’s— yeah.” Guilt boils in Nezumi’s stomach at the fleeting memory of Rou’s almost desperate paternal smile. He doesn’t owe him anything but room and board. It shouldn’t matter. “I check in occasionally. I don’t call every night like you but it’s been several months so—What?”

         Shion’s gone still. He’s raised his head from Nezumi’s arm in order to stare at him like he’d just confessed to murdering innocent forest animals in his spare time.

         _“What?”_ Nezumi repeats.

         “It’s been _months_? And you’ve been _travelling_ in these months?”

         “He’s fine,” Nezumi soothes, turning onto his side at last. He faces Shion, bumping their heads together playfully. “Not everyone is obsessed with their mama.”

         “You should call him,” Shion commands, but catches himself. He continues, robotically, knowing the social protocol and doing a poor job of yielding to it. “That is to say you should call him— if you _want_ to. I won’t force you.”

         “Excellent work, not forcing me. Very subtle. You’re a master manipulator,” Nezumi mulls it over, scratching his chin.

         “I don’t want to manipulate you, I’m stating an opinion. But it’s more than an opinion because I want to you listen to me. I want you to value my opinions— “ 

         Nezumi groans into the pillow. “How can you just say things like that? I’m really asking, how?”

         “I just bet he’s worried.” 

         Nezumi opens his mouth to offer a pathetic lesson on opinions and what it means to be a person because Shion always seems to encourage him to bust out the lectures, when it dawns on him.

         He tilts his head away from the pillow so Shion can hear him properly. “I do. Value your opinions. More that I should, and more than I’ve ever been taught to. I thought you’d picked up on that already.”

         “I assumed. But it’s nice hearing it out loud.”

         _Unbelievable. He’s unbelievable._

         “You are…such a dick.”

         “Did I offend you?”

         Nezumi throws his spare pillow at Shion’s face. He scoffs, indignant, and Nezumi is content. “Go to bed. We can call Rou tomorrow. Yes, you’re joining me, I need a mediator.”

         Shion’s eyes widen, before he bursts into the kind of smile that fills Nezumi’s stupid contradictory heart with sunrises. 

         “I’d love to.”

         “Tomorrow,” Nezumi throws out nonchalantly. He clamps his mouth shut. That’s _two_ plans they’ve made for tomorrow. The beach and Rou. Nezumi sighs for himself and for Shion as well, because apparently they’ve descended into anarchy and what’s another rule broken? 

         _So this is the slippery slope._  

         Nezumi’s heart clenches uncomfortably, and he feels significantly colder.

Shion rolls away from him, and Nezumi thinks he says “goodnight” but he can’t be sure over the plastic crinkling. Nezumi watches the back of his head for a moment.

         _What am I doing?_

         “Nezumi.”

         The plastic shouts as Shion flips over once more with disturbing enthusiasm. Nezumi’s eyebrow raises habitually. “Ah?”

         “I want to—“ Shion cuts himself off. He reaches out and takes Nezumi’s hand. His grip is loose, but confident. Nezumi swallows. All that, for this? 

         “Is this okay?”

         _Fuck._

         Nezumi tugs Shion closer and tangles their legs. He desperately hopes that it is. 

 

         As promised, Nezumi finds himself fidgeting with his laptop the following morning; Shion trying to avoid hovering over his shoulder. The way he keeps pacing the room is a dead giveaway, however. Nezumi catches his shirt. “Just sit down. Rou’s shit with Skype but has it open constantly, so the call should work fine.”

         Shion complies, sinking to the carpet space beside Nezumi, their backs against the ratty hotel bed. “We’re using Skype?”

          “It’s rather inconvenient I know, but I prefer face-to-face communication. I’m old-fashioned like that.”

         Shion rolls his eyes. “I don’t believe that at all.”

         “Oh, he doubts! What do you think my reasoning is then, Shion?”

         “You just want to show your technological prowess to the elderly?”

         “An interesting theory.”

         “Skype isn’t that impressive Nezumi.”

         Asshole. Nezumi shoves Shion’s arm, nearly tipping him over, because evidently he’s been reduced to preschool methods of vengeance.

         As expected, Rou’s Skype reads as online, Nezumi contemplates typing a message, but what would he even say? He hits the button for “video call” instead.

         It rings, once, twice, three times and then Nezumi’s greeted with the image of a mostly black room. A window with the blinds shut, and a white-blue glow that Nezumi assumes is coming from the opposing computer screen, provide the only light in the room. He can’t make out the facial features of the person in front of the camera, but the broad-shouldered silhouette makes it obvious.

         “Why are you calling?” the shadow asks. His voice hasn’t changed. Honestly, it sounds like he hasn’t had any water in months even though Nezumi’s certain that’s not the case.

         Shion tenses beside him and Nezumi fights the urge to laugh.

         _You’re giving him exactly what he wants Shion._

         “Feeling around in the dark, Sasori? I can’t see a thing. You know, electricity is one of the greatest inventions of this modern age—”

         “So you are still alive. You’ve made that clear. Continue your travels.”

         Baboop. Call ended. The Skype chat returns, the white and blue near blinding.

         “Well, he’s fond of me as always,” Nezumi drawls. He glances at Shion who’s eying the screen like it just smacked him.

         “That was your father?” 

         “Foster-father,” Nezumi corrects. “And no. That would be his asshole nurse.”

         “Why does he have a nurse?”

         Right. Nezumi probably should have explained this. “Rou doesn’t have legs. He got them amputated after the fire, since they were too damaged to ever be useable. He’s got all sorts of soul-crushing medical complications from that. Hence, full-time nurse.” 

         “Oh,” Shion replies, articulately. Nezumi’s scar aches a little as if it’s excited to be talked about, even remotely.

         _Shut up,_ Nezumi tells it. 

         Skype beeps again, and Shion jumps. Nezumi answers, used to this dance by now. He’s greeted by another silhouette, this one made imperceptibly lighter by the faint, red, glow of a cigarette in his hand. 

         “Fallen off the wagon, Rou?”

         “Nezumi,” Rou says, and the lit end of his cigarette vanishes against what Nezumi assumes is an ashtray. His voice carries more weight than Nezumi remembers. “You answered quickly. I apologize.”

         “Hey, your lungs, not mine. Nice nursing Sasori, you’re really doing a stand-up job.”

         Nezumi recognizes a grunt in the background and stifles a laugh. “Are both of you just avoiding paying the electricity bill or do you typically like to keep the house looking like a cave?”

         “I see your sarcasm hasn’t deteriorated in your time away,” Rou comments and Nezumi can hear the slight smile in his voice. “As it is, the light recently burnt out. Sasori is changing it as we speak. Who is that beside you?”

         Shion stirs, looking once at Nezumi and back to Rou, obviously uncomfortable not being able to meet the eyes of someone who can see him clearly. 

         “My travelling companion.”

          “Companion.” Rou repeats, ignoring whatever Sasori is grumbling suspiciously in the background. “What is your name, young man?”

         “My name is Shion. It’s nice to meet you.” 

         “Shion, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”


	25. Meet the parent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nezumi's got fear, Rou's got guilt, Sasori's got salt, and Shion's just trying to be a person.
> 
> Alternatively titled: Skype works far better than it ever has.

      “Shion, why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

      Nezumi feels Shion tense before he even looks his way. His shoulders lock, and his fists clench at nothing in particular. When Nezumi risks a glance, the blue glow of the computer seems to deepen the shadows on his face.

      “Ahm,” Shion articulates.

      Nezumi bails the poor guy out. “You think you could ask a bigger question, old man?”

      “Since Shion is travelling with you, I assume he is used to big questions.”

      “Some people aren’t cut out for big ideas. Just look at him, he’s overloading—“

      “I’m not overloading!”

      Nezumi cracks a smile. “My deepest apologies. Clearly you were taking time to…what was it you were doing now...?”

      “Thinking! I was thinking!” Shion fires the kind of look that could laser through metal, but, as he is wont to do: he wavers. The indignant rage melts from his eyes, replaced with something flimsy, but honest. He clears his throat.

“I don’t— I felt strange for a moment. I used to answer that question all the time in college with my major or some unimportant fact. I can’t do that now. I was expelled.”

      _I guess it would be strange being expelled,_ Nezumi thinks, somewhat surprised that he hasn’t recently considered the weight of that glorious detail between riding in the back of a garbage truck and sticking his tongue down Shion’s throat.

      “Expelled?” Rou asks.

      “Yes. I don’t regret it—“

      “Why don’t you answer that deep question, now Shion?” Nezumi interrupts, reluctant to have Shion talk through into his entire history with his foster-father.

      Shion looks at him a moment, frowning, before pursing his lips. His mouth tilts in a thoughtful diagonal line.

      “I’d like to answer, but I don’t know anything about myself actually. I haven’t figured out an answer to that question properly yet, I think.”

      Is he _high_?

      “You know—“ Nezumi begins, but a deep laugh cuts him off. It’s a soft laugh, slightly raspy, but it carries unexpectedly well. Nezumi can’t remember the last time he heard it.

      “Does one ever truly know themselves?” Rou comments, between chuckles. “A thoughtful and earnest answer. You’ve picked an interesting companion Nezumi.”

      “Seriously?” Nezumi fires a look he hopes looks condescending to the black silhouette of Rou on the computer. “You actually went for that? Are you an ancient sphinx asking for riddles now?”

      “The sphinx asks the riddles, Nezumi. It does not accept them,” Rou corrects.

      _I knew that,_ Nezumi thinks. _I just misspoke._

      “Unless the answer to the riddle, is the word _riddles_ ,” Shion pipes up. “Then the sphinx could literally be asking for _riddles_.”

      “Clever.”

      “Oh, yes of course. The word _riddles_ ,” Nezumi drawls. “Go ahead, have an intellectual debate over the semantics of a throwaway joke. I can’t think of a better way to spend the evening.”

      “Nezumi, we spent a few evenings ago doing just that. You love semantics.”

      “No one loves semantics,” Nezumi grouses. “Or a snitch.”

      He elbows Shion hard enough to knock him onto the—oh shit, how did he not notice before: suspiciously stained carpet. Shion grins cheekily, and Nezumi’s distracted by the unwanted, vexing desire to kiss along the edges of his stupid smiling mouth. He forces his gaze away—

      And nostalgia hurdles into every corner of his brain with bomb-like potency. Sasori’s finally fixed the lights, and Nezumi’s teenage residence is displayed proudly.

      Beige walls, gray carpets. A faded coffee table rests against the wall, covered in marks from a young Nezumi picking through the varnish with a spoon—waiting for Rou to fix him lunch. A faded photo of himself at thirteen rests next to stained yellow curtains. He’s making no expression at all, standing beside a younger, dark-haired Rou; he’s wearing a pressed white button-down he can’t remember owning. The distance between them is respectful. Rou’s hand hovers lightly in the air, as if he’s debating placing it on Nezumi’s girlish shoulder. The photo hadn’t been either of their decisions, although Nezumi can’t recall who had masterminded it.

      He can, however, remember the dirt-green blanket folded on the ratty couch; it was the same one Rou wore on his lap when Nezumi went on his first trip. Rou had only smiled when Nezumi said he was leaving; that sad, apologetic smile that turned Nezumi’s stomach for a reasons he could never seem to place. There’s always been some separation between them, some glass wall neither of them are comfortable with cracking. At different moments both of them have pressed their hands against it and pushed—but it’s never melted or budged.

      “Go then,” he’d said, and Nezumi realized that he had nothing more to say to his caretaker. It was all he could do to quietly look at that strange threadbare blanket, conflicted, thrilled and repulsed by how easy it was to just pack up and _leave_. It wasn’t hesitance that passed through him in that moment, but something like regret.

      Somewhere in him, Nezumi knew that if he left, he would never fully understand whatever feelings Rou carried for him. He would never comprehend the depth of the guilt behind his eyes when Nezumi caught him holding a cigarette or complained about the smell of smoke in the house.

      Nezumi left anyway.

      There’s about a hundred different things he could say at the sight of his old residence. There are about a hundred-thousand different things he could say at the sight of his foster-father. Nezumi says: “Those curtains are still awful.”

      Rou doesn’t reply. He isn’t even facing Nezumi, instead offering his thanks to what looks to be his asshole nurse on the ladder, judging by what appears to be a floating sandy-brown blotch in the upper corner of the screen; damn Skype quality.

      “Is this your old home Nezumi?” Shion asks, face poking up somewhere near Nezumi’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at the tiny room over Rou’s back.

      “I guess,” Nezumi says, and he feels his voice lift slightly, a telltale sign of poor acting. He’s better than that but—

      This wasn’t his home. It was a hostel in beige and grey, and faded bills pressed in his hand on his sixteenth birthday to ‘Go, then.’ Nezumi doesn’t know how to tell that to Shion. He doesn’t know how to tell it to _himself_.

      “I preferred the garage,” he says, trying to make it sound like a joke, but Shion’s eyebrows draw together at the comment.

      “The garage suited you. Dark, sinister....” Sasori announces, seeming to have lowered himself from the ladder. Rou looks at him tiredly.

      “Oh, out of adjectives Sasori? I thought you had a better vocabulary than that.” Nezumi grins, showing his teeth, and the way Sasori seems to steam in reply makes it all worthwhile.

      “I could go on for much longer, believe me.”

      “Both of you. Behave.” Rou finally faces the camera after firing one more look at Sasori. It’s an order. His grey hair looks stringy in the new light, eyes bright. Rou’s eyes have always been one of the more pleasing qualities about him. They’re softer than Gran’s, with a light twinkle behind them. Even though Nezumi never understood the man, his familiar gaze brings a conflicting measure of peace.

“Nezumi spent a sizable amount of time in the garage when he lived here. He would dismantle things, fix the car, sometimes break things—”

      “I paid you back for everything I broke,” Nezumi interrupts, not wanting Shion to misinterpret.

      “I know.” Rou announces, and Nezumi’s not sure why he sounds so _sad_ about that.

     “He always has. Nezumi has never once failed to repay me for services offered. Unless…Perhaps the greatest gift I ever gave him was the keys out of this house.”

      _Oh_. Nezumi thinks. The uncertain feeling in the pit of his stomach expands dully. Rou regrets the statement, judging by the way he clears his throat and his fingers twitch for a cigarette. Shion looks between them.

      “I did not mean to guilt you. I am glad you are healthy, and following your desires Nezumi. Your hair has grown since I’ve seen you last.”

      _Now you’re going to play the paternal card?_

      Nezumi reaches out, feeling the tips of his hair, just now long enough to brush his shoulders. “I wear it up, usually. It gets in the way.”

      “An androgynous look suits you well. How are your travels?”

      “Fine.”

      “College?”

      “Dropped out.”

Rou nods, slowly. Nezumi didn’t expect much of a reaction.

      “Why?”

      “I don’t have to answer that, do I?”

      Rou looks away. “No, I suppose you don’t. It is enough that you are well.”

      Nezumi nods. He can feel Shion staring at him, and he’s struck with the absurdity of having him here for such a pointless exchange. Although judging by the faces Shion is making, the exchange is anything but pointless to him.

      “You okay, Shion?”

      “I’m fine— I just…You both haven’t talked in a while have you?”

      “Yeah?”

      Shion frowns, opening his mouth again but clearly thinks better of confronting. Nezumi laughs, ruffling his hair on impulse. “Don’t overthink it. We’re not men of many words. It doesn’t mean we hate each other.”

      Shion leans into his hand, mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘hedgehog’s dilemma’ and Nezumi feels Rou’s eyes on them. He shouldn’t be embarrassed, but there’s something about the warm look on Rou’s face that fills him with what can only be described as teenage petulance.

      “What.” Nezumi asks, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks. 

      “Nothing, I am simply happy you’ve found a companion who so clearly cares for you.”

      “I do,” Shion admits, without batting an eye and Nezumi wants to shove his face in the carpet again. He opts to tug lightly at his hair instead.

      “What can I say,” Nezumi announces, dryly. ”He thinks we’re _soulmates_.”

      He can feel Shion’s entire being growing hot. “That’s…That was…”

Sasori makes a disgusted sound and Nezumi tears his gaze away from the incredibly pleasing sight of a floundering, flushed Shion to flip him off.

      “This is for Sasori, not for you Rou.”

      “I’m even more pleased that you seem to care about him in return.”

      Nezumi lowers his finger. His other hand is still tangled in Shion’s hair.

      “Yeah,” he manages to get out. _It’s been hard. But…_

Shion’s shoulder bumps his, and his chest feels warm and cold at once.

      _I really want this, Rou. I don’t know what I’m doing._

A silence, just at the cusp of being uncomfortable, settles between them.

      “Well, if we’re just going to sit here staring at each other, I’m going to hang up.”

      “Nezumi,“ Rou begins, and the desperation in his voice seems to surprise them both.

      “What is it?”

      “I appreciate your calling. It is good to hear your voice.”

Rou’s eyes are warm, and Nezumi feels him pressing at the invisible wall that’s always stood between them.

      Nezumi hesitates only a moment, before carefully pressing back. “Yeah, it’s good to hear you too.”

      Rou smiles, and Nezumi returns it. As an afterthought, he adds, “But watch the smoking,” and evidently that’s all it takes to get Rou to recoil again.

      “Yes.” He says simply, and Nezumi can feel him piling on the distance between them. It takes everything he has not to chase him down. He hangs up.

      Nezumi finds himself releasing a large sigh, unsatisfied, as always. Shion shifts and he realizes he’s still got a hand tangled in his hair. It’s a little late to remove it however, so Nezumi opts to stroke through it with his fingers, watching the white hair reliably fall back into place. The heat from Shion’s scalp warms his hand; Shion always seems to run a higher temperature.

      “That feels nice,” Shion says, all but leaning on Nezumi who has to fight the impulse to jerk away.

      “It’s always softer than I expect.”

      “My hair was textured similarly even before it changed.”

      “What color was it?”

      “Brown.” Shion announces, shutting his eyes when Nezumi’s fingers tentatively brush along his cheek. His skin is smooth. “Your foster father’s a mysterious person.”

      “He’s as mysterious as an old man with awful taste in fabric and a deep love of rodents can be.”

      Shion laughs, a warm genuine sound and Nezumi caves, pushing Shion’s face towards his and mashing their lips together in a soft, chaste, kiss. Shion’s hands go to his face immediately, pressing back.

      “Thank you,” he says, stealing the words right out of Nezumi’s mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY SEPTEMBER 7TH! This was a tough chapter so it took a while. I hope you enjoyed.


	26. The Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandcastles are broken, and realizations are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cameo notes for this chapter:  
> Appa's a super minor character in volume 8.  
> The other ones you should be able to figure out. : )

      They go back to the beach, as promised. The chill from the previous night’s rain lingers in the parking lot and Nezumi feels his skin prickle in spite of the sunshine. 

      _Hey, Shion,_ he thinks of saying. _Remember when I kissed your neck and then ran into the storm? You lost your umbrella._

Luckily, Nezumi’s never been one to reminiscence.

      “It’s a nice day,” Shion says, his hand brushing Nezumi’s. Instinct screams at Nezumi to flinch away, but he finds himself pressing their palms together. Shion smiles and tangles their fingers.

There’s no thunder. Nothing breaks. Shion’s palm is steady and warm and they keep walking.

      A wooden pier Nezumi has no memory of creaks under their feet. This portion of the beach houses a wall of sloping sand dunes and beach grasses, so Nezumi can only assume that the pier was placed for easier footing.

      Behind this wall, a child screams. It is not the sort of scream that signifies pain, but the kind of scream that means the child is either currently playing with group of messy children, or slapping something very enthusiastically—probably both.

      “I like that sound,” Shion announces, struggling to adjust the bag hanging over his shoulder with his free hand.

      Nezumi helps him out. “You like listening to children attempting to break the sound barrier?”

      “People,” Shion replies. “I like the sound of people.” 

      Wow. Nezumi thinks, before making a noncommittal noise. Can’t say he’s ever liked that sound much. He tries to see if he can spot the ocean through the sand dunes—nothing yet.

      “Actually,” Shion starts again, in a tone of voice that makes Nezumi suddenly very nervous about what he’s about to say, “I don’t like the sound of people. I like the sounds of people _living_. Does that make sense?”

      This guy. Nezumi’s tempted to make some half-hearted joke about Shion over-analyzing life, and continue walking—but.

      The sounds of people living. Nezumi knows another sound. It is less of a sound and more the exact antithesis of a sound. It’s the oppressive incorrect-ness of a room that should contain two people, but now only has one. It’s dust on a bookshelf; The silence of the perfectly still.

      Nezumi listens to the child shriek again— picking out the sound through the semi-distant chatter of families. There is something about it that’s…

      “Yeah,” Nezumi announces. “It makes sense.”

      Shion squeezes his hand. Nezumi wonders how he knows this not-sound too.

      The wet sand makes a gritty smushing noise under their shoes as they sink and wobble off the pier and over the last few dunes to finally catch a glimpse of the beach proper.

      Mismatched beach towels cover what Nezumi assumes to be sand at disgustingly unplanned angles. He can’t shake the image of a sticky toddler discovering Band-Aids for the first time and slapping all of them on at once in a clusterfuck of Psychedelic-Dinosaur-Star-Wars-Barney.

      The only areas of the beach that aren’t completely covered by towels are a rectangle sectioned off for beach volleyball operated by a mess of teenagers, and a small sand strip near the water where children are attempting to build sandcastles.

      “Chaotic” is the first word that comes to mind. “Hell” is the second. Nezumi finds the latter to be far more accurate.

      “I miss the rain,” Shion mumbles as he plods his way past the teens playing the loudest, touchiest game of beach volleyball in existence.

      “What, you mean you _don’t_ want to play with them?” Nezumi says, snaking an arm around his shoulder. “Could be romantic.”

      It’s a co-ed game— loose and rule-less— clearly meant to be social and flirty rather than an actual competition. The scene’s cheesy enough to be right out of an 80’s horror flick, and Nezumi attempts to tally which of the teenagers would make it to the ending credits.

      “Hit it real high for me, Appa!” a red-haired woman teases, elbowing a man who appears to be her boyfriend.

      “What, s’it’s not muh turn yet baby!” He announces, or at least Nezumi thinks he announces. There appears to be a _buttered roll_ sticking out of his mouth, like he just took a break to snack in the middle of the game. He tilts his head back and eats it with such pelican-like aplomb Nezumi grimly labels him the first victim.

      “I’ll pass,” Shion says, but his mouth is open, watching the young man swallow the roll. He looks a little like someone witnessing a city burning: fascinated, horrified, and unable to look away. His mother would be proud of his bread-sensitivity.

      “Appa”, done with this disturbing display, takes several steps back. Nezumi notes how slowly he slips into position; he’s serving, but it’s less of a serve and more of a series of model-like poses that feature his ass most prominently.

      The red-haired woman _whoops_.

      “Whatever happened to enjoying the sounds of living people?” Nezumi teases at Shion’s scowl. His cheek is right there, and so Nezumi pats it lightly, relishing the annoyed huff he gets in response.

      “I still like them,” Shion defends, pushing Nezumi’s arm off. He’s looking straight ahead in a valiant effort to avoid watching Appa shake his above-average derrière. Nezumi joins him. After a second. Or three. A burning city indeed.

      Shion elbows him, continuing: “I’ve simply decided I prefer the sounds of people from a distance.”

      “You and me both—” Nezumi agrees, before the beach ball slams into his face.

      It’s not the first time Nezumi’s been hit in the face, but it always elicits the same reaction. Something heavier than rage but equally familiar sparks in his gut, and before Nezumi’s aware of his actions he’s caught the beach ball and kicked it with his whole vengeance-seeking soul.

      The distance is impressive, honestly. The ball flies in a satisfying arc before hitting the ground, steamrolling over a towel and slamming into a beachcomber who kicks it away in a similar, though less elegant, arc. The process repeats in a way that would seem cosmically driven if it weren’t so bitchily variant. The ball shows no sign of stopping in its journey to the other side of the beach.

      The red-haired woman seems to find this as hilarious as Appa finds it offensive.

      Shion’s already in pursuit— probably going to throw it back, the damned peacemaker.

      “You should be more careful ‘Appa’!” Shion shouts over his shoulder, and the red-haired woman bursts into a new wave of laughter. Maybe not that much of a peacemaker.

      Nezumi finds himself laughing as well; right before the beach ball heads toward its final resting place: a lame sandcastle made by a couple of mousy kids. It crashes, rather enthusiastically, into the pile of sand likely intended to be the center tower undoubtedly murdering hundreds of the sandcastle’s imaginary sand-residents. Regret.

      “Our castle!” the younger boy despairs, dropping a seashell he was sucking on. Nezumi finds himself almost tripping over some stranger’s discarded flip-flops in his rush to assess the calamity.

      Shion’s already way ahead of him, kneeling by the kids and attempting to fix up the sandcastle with the air of a surgeon who knows the wound is lethal. The older girl bats his hands away.

      “Don’t worry about it,” she says, digging her hands into the sand and effectively destroying the rest of the tower and Shion’s “repair”. She looks at the little boy across from her, and then speaks in a voice an octave too high to be natural: “We can make the whole thing a moat now, Rico! That’s the best part.”

      “I dunno,” Rico says, despondent. He pokes lightly at a shell on the ground, seeming to question if his heartbreak would look less real if he were to have a quick taste of this one too. “I liked the castle.”

      The girl casually chucks the shell he’s eying over her shoulder, where it lands, rather perfectly on top of a confused sunbather. “Moats have alligators, Rico!”

      “Is that true?”

      “It is,” announces Shion, swiftly stepping in as a knowledgeable adult, beach ball in hand.

      This seems to convince Rico, and he promptly joins the young girl in aggressively clawing at the sand. Nezumi finds himself smiling a little until he recognizes the look in the girl’s eyes. 

      _You’re welcome for preventing that scene,_ her eyes say, _now go away._

      _Smart girl_ , Nezumi thinks, lightly tugging Shion’s arm so they’re weaving through the towels, back to the redhead and Appa.

      “It’s amazing how quickly they recalibrated,” Shion says.

      “When you’re young, adapting is easy. Your life is in a constant state of flux anyway, so what’s a few destroyed sandcastles?”

      Shion smiles. “And if you’re old?” 

      “Then adaptation takes more work. You need to provide the flux, upset the system you’ve created for yourself.” Nezumi lectures, stepping around an entire picnic complete with disgusting looking tuna sandwiches. He offers a hand to Shion from the other side.

      “We’re supposed to—thanks,” Shion says, accepting his hand. His grip tightens as Nezumi lifts it above their heads, guiding him around some atrocious potato salad. “We’re supposed to break some sandcastles, you mean?”

      “Depends on how much you have to adapt,” Nezumi grins, not releasing Shion’s hand after he’s cleared the obstacle. Shion adjusts the beach ball on his hip and opens his mouth to counter—

      “Hey sweetie!” shouts the red-haired woman, and Shion immediately turns to face the volleyball rectangle. He then turns back to Nezumi as if he wasn’t addressed.

      “I think she’s calling you,” Nezumi drawls.

      Shion scowls. “I don’t think I should respond to ‘sweetie.’”

      “I guess we’ve got a free beach ball then.”

      Shion hesitates. “I’ll be right back,” he mumbles, releasing Nezumi’s hand like a precious cat he was considering adopting, before bumbling off to go have words with the beach ball couple.

      _He’s wearing the wrong shoes_ , Nezumi realizes. Nezumi’s travelling boots block the familiar itch of the sand allowing him to move forward effortlessly, but Shion’s shoes slip and sink along the sand replacing his usual confidently-cautious stride with an endearing waddle.

      _He’d hate that,_ Nezumi thinks, loving every second of it.

      Shion returns the beach ball, but seems to have accidentally struck up a conversation with the red-haired woman. Typical. She’s leaning forward, showing off her tits—that is to say—some sort of scar on her chest. Nezumi hopes that’s less typical. 

      Shion shakes his head politely, but he’s smiling. He makes some sort of gesture to his hair, and she laughs. They exchange a few more words Nezumi can’t make out before Shion turns. He stretches his arm out and points at what Nezumi realizes is _him_. Startled by the certain warmth of Shion’s gaze, Nezumi nods in his direction. Shion grins and dives back into the conversation. 

      It’s strange, being acknowledged. Embarrassed for some implacable reason, Nezumi sticks his hands in his pockets and makes eye-contact with Appa who is ingurgitating another buttered roll. Mistake.

      When he turns back around Shion’s frowning at the woman and crossing his arms. Nezumi’s walking over before he can stop himself as “discovering unique ways to get socked in the face by a stranger” seems to be Shion’s raison d'etre.

      “It's a waste, you know,” she says, punching him on the shoulder.

      Shion pats her arm once, curt. “Thank you for your opinion.”

      “I didn’t meant to take the wind out of your sails, sweetie, I just think that man—“

      _Shion,_ Nezumi thinks. _Exactly how you get into this discussion?_

      Shion has a way of cutting through the meat of an issue and moving straight to the gristle— gristle, apparently, meaning _Nezumi_.

      “Am I interrupting something?”

      “Nezumi!” Shion says. He looks excited to be spoken to like usual, but Nezumi can’t read the emotion in his eyes. “No, you’re not interrupting anything.”

      Shion takes his hand, and Nezumi allows himself to be pulled into his clumsy stride.

      “Just think about it, sweetie!” the red-haired woman calls after them.

      Shion walks faster, waving over his shoulder with his free hand. In the distance Nezumi hears a stuffed-mouth sound resembling “farewell” that can only be from fucking Appa. Seriously, _why_?

      Shion’s destination is, oddly enough, off the beach proper. The less-crowded rows of sand dunes and beach grasses are far from pretty, but they’re quieter at least.

      Quieter, that is, until Shion attempts to climb one of the dunes.

      “What are you doing?” Nezumi asks his grunting companion.

       “I’m _exploring_ ,” Shion replies, trying valiantly to stay upright where he’s wobbling on the side of the dune. He’s chucked his bag somewhere near the dune’s base and it’s already covered in a fine layer of sand. Nezumi hopes there’s nothing important in there. 

      “Those are brave words for a duckling.”

      Shion doesn’t reply, and Nezumi reluctantly offers his arm. Shion accepts it eagerly, balancing his weight between the shifting sand and Nezumi. He resembles a ballsy toddler, but he’s certainly climbing better. 

      The dune isn’t that tall, 4 or 5 feet high at the most, but the sand is loose and establishing footing is difficult. Nezumi follows along, not bothering to feel disturbed by how easily he melts into the role of human balance bar.

      Shion arrives at the top of the dune, rooting his grandpa shoes in the beach grass. At the last second, Nezumi’s boots sink into the sand, but Shion grabs his arm with both of his hands and pulls him up to join him.

      “We did it,” Shion declares with all the enthusiasm of the man who first climbed Everest.

      Nezumi snorts. “Yeah, well. It was touch-and-go for a bit.”

      Shion fails to acknowledge Nezumi’s sarcasm and sits down. He tangles his fingers in the grass that stabilized him and dangles his legs off the side of the dune. Sand waterfalls down as Shion shifts and Nezumi certain he’ll slide off, but somehow the dune bears his weight just fine.

      After a moment, Nezumi joins him.

      The waves crash into the shore, and a child shrieks again. Nezumi can see the red-haired woman playing volleyball and jeering at Appa, and Rico and his sister building their moat. They’re far enough away to seem small and unimportant. Nezumi allows himself a deep breath—

      Shion sighs, loudly. His eyes are shut. Nezumi fights the urge to laugh or correct him.

      “Exhausted from all that “exploration”, Your Grace?”

      Shion’s eyes open just enough to glare sideways at Nezumi. “Sweetie, Duckling, and now Your Grace. Those are all names that I’ve been called today.”

      “And?”

      Shion sighs again, eyes opening fully. “Why are you _that man_?”

      Nezumi blinks. “That’s your problem?" 

      “Yes!” Shion asserts, clearly agitated. He kicks his legs, and the sand shifts threateningly. Nezumi catches his arm to keep him from tumbling off, and then laughs at him.

      Shion tugs his arm away. “It isn’t funny,” he grumbles, rooting his fingers in the grass again.

      “Of course not,” replies Nezumi, still laughing. “Maybe she felt my travel experience? Or sex appeal.”

      “That isn’t fair. I’ve travelled a sizable amount now.”

      Nezumi slowly raises an eyebrow, unapologetically lunging for the low-hanging fruit: “Ah, but your—" 

      “—My sex appeal is more than adequate,” Shion interrupts, dripping with confidence. Nezumi coughs, and Shion glares pointedly. “You kissed me yesterday. If you find it inadequate, you’re the one that should be concerned about your taste.”

      _Touché,_ Nezumi admits, internally. “Maybe you should have told her that. She would have admired your conquest.” 

      “You’re not my conquest, but—”

      But. Nezumi raises a hand. “You are aware that everything you say before a ‘but’ is bullshit, right?” 

      “Are you arguing that you are my conquest?” Shion raises his eyebrows.

      Nezumi tries not to think about that one. “Merely concerned about your syntax, per usual.”

      Light pop music comes from the beach; someone’s hooked up a speaker. Nezumi listens for a few moments, trying to make out the words, before picking up the conversation again. 

      “So I’m not your conquest, we’ve established. What were you going to say?”

      Shion’s forehead wrinkles, his eyebrows draw together, but he doesn’t seem particularly stressed. Just irritated.

      “What?” Nezumi asks.

      “That woman told me to be careful. She saw the way you kicked the beach ball and said you seemed dangerous.”

      “Dangerous,” Nezumi repeats, stiff.

      “I’m fascinated by it actually.” 

      Nezumi brushes some sand off his pants, trying to ignore the tangling in his chest Shion’s thoughtful expression seems to encourage.

      “S’not healthy to be fascinated by danger—you should get that looked at. ”

      Shion shakes his head. “Not the danger. The fact that that’s how we looked to her. Isn’t that interesting? I’m so familiar with looking at us as a collection of complications that I forgot that to someone just looking in we might appear—uh”

      “Simple?” Nezumi offers.

      “Simple,” Shion confirms. “I wonder if she had the ability to look at all our interactions on this trip so far she would still think that you were the dangerous one. I wonder what she’d see.” 

      “Thinking of investing in a biker jacket, Shion?” Nezumi teases.

      “Listen to me,” Shion holds up a hand. “Take me seriously for a second. I’m realizing something— or no, I’ve realized something. I’m complicated. I never thought of myself as complicated before.”

      Nezumi blinks. “What?” 

      “I’m dangerous enough to get expelled, I’m aggressive enough to intimidate someone—I made you cry Nezumi and I don’t know what I was in order to make that happen. I’m full of so many things— things I haven’t even discovered yet. Isn’t that interesting and scary? It scares me a little.”

      Nezumi finds himself nodding— an uncomfortable jerk of his head. He’s not entirely sure why Shion bothers to share all of this information, why sharing the thoughts that keep most people up at night come out so naturally and honestly in his voice. It’s ridiculous, really.

      “But.” Shion hesitates, tugging his bangs. What did they just say about that particular conjunction? Nezumi finds himself shifting closer, because Shion is so ridiculous Nezumi has no option but to become an idiot to match him.

      “Everything I’m feeling now at this moment, I wouldn’t be feeling it if I weren’t so complicated— if I weren’t dangerous, or aggressive. If I weren’t different from how I thought I was when I started this trip.”

      Nezumi lets his hand rest on his lap, fighting the urge to catch Shion’s hand and pull it away from his hair. “And that makes everything okay?”

      “I don’t know,” Shion stands up straighter, hand on his chin. “I think it just makes everything mine— everything I’ve done out here, that is. I’m not acting because of school rules, or hospital regulations. For what feels like the first time in my life, I’m making my own decisions, I’m making my own successes and regrets, and I’ve found something.” 

      “What’s that?”

      “Myself.” he says, and then seems embarrassed by the grandness of his statement. “Not _all_ of myself, not even close, but some. Little pieces of myself, scattered around the country. I love sunsets, and I want to see the stars. I’ve gotten into a fight at a convenience store and I can stay up all night looking for a stranger’s dog; I’ve finally been to a Waffle House, and chased you in the rain, terrified. I’ve kissed you, and I’ve wanted you to kiss me.

      “And that’s why I’m happy. I’m happy to be complicated. Because I’m making my own decisions and I don’t know at all what’s going to happen next, but I want to see it. For the first time in my life: I can’t wait.”

      The pop music changes into an almost inaudible ukulele beach song. Nezumi finds his mouth dry. Shion’s released his bangs, and the wind brushes his white hair against his face. 

      Ridiculous…Ridiculous and… Nezumi hesitates a fraction of a second before pushing Shion’s bangs aside, out of his eyes.

      “…You’ve really gotten a lot out of travelling,” Nezumi mumbles.

      Shion nods. “I’ve never experienced anything like this before.”

      “Travelling does that. It gives perspective or meaning.” Nezumi lowers his hand, hoping Shion’s satisfied with the basic reply. He finds he’s unable to look Shion’s face even though he’s cleared his hair away. He finds he doesn’t want to see the bravery there. He doesn’t want to match the steady heat of Shion’s gaze.

      He wants to write him off as ridiculous because if he doesn’t—

      Shion takes Nezumi’s hand; he doesn’t notice his thoughts, or he’s pretending not to. 

      Nezumi can’t write him off. He never has been able to.

      “Traveling’s amazing.” Shion smiles. “No wonder you know so much, Nezumi.”

      Nezumi opens his mouth. He closes it. For a moment, the background noise of the beach seems too loud for him to speak. The calm beach song doesn’t feel calming any more. It’s overwhelming. All of it is.

      “Nezumi?”

      “I don’t—” Nezumi starts, carefully releasing Shion’s hand.

      “What?”

      Nezumi shakes his head, feeling his eyelids close. Everything feels so pointless. Why bother sharing? Shion’s had his realization—why dampen it with his own?

      Shion’s hand covers his again. “Look at me?”

      Nezumi opens his eyes and makes himself meet his gaze. Unrelenting. He exhales.

      “You can keep talking if you want,” Shion says.

      If you want.

      He could stop, he could write all this off right now, and Shion would let him. Shion would smooth over the conversation and they’d talk about something stupid. Words bubble up in Nezumi’s throat, obviously having not received the message that the conversation could be over.

      “I don’t think I’ve found anything like you have, when travelling,” he admits. “I think I’ve told you that before, I don’t know. I’ve told you a lot of things I can’t remember.”

      Shion squeezes his hand, and Nezumi finds he still has more to say. More words in him. It’s the same broken hydrant feeling he had in the car only now it’s worse, because now Nezumi’s completely in control. He could plug it up and run away but he doesn’t want to; that’s the scariest part of all of it.

      Nezumi makes himself look at Shion. Shion deserves that. “As a kid, I wanted so badly to find something to explain, or—to make sense of everything that’s happened. I haven’t. Nothing could, because none of it made sense in the first place.

      “The truth is, Shion. I don’t know why I do this. I don’t know why I travel and look at sunsets and climb up cliffs and mountains and stop at hundreds of thousands of gas stations begging the world for answers I know I’m never going to get.”

      Shion’s grip tightens. Nezumi shakes his head.

      “I’m not like you. I don’t effortlessly learn things just by…being around people. I haven’t found anything, while travelling, and I don’t know what the point of it is if I haven’t found anything.”

      Shion’s stare is physically painful. Nezumi looks out at the beach for a moment: the tide’s come in and the little girl and Rico are standing in the moat they made. He still hasn’t found the laughing child but he hears them shriek again. For a moment, Nezumi lets himself wonder what they’ve discovered, what everyone but him seems to have discovered.

      “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” Nezumi admits for the second time in his life, and feels something in him finally break. “In the gas station you said travelling was to accept that there are no answers. How is it that you suddenly have these facts now? What changed?”

      Shion’s answer is simple: “They aren’t facts,” his voice is carefully measured, “They might change tomorrow.”

      The fluttering in Nezumi’s heart stills, replaced with some sort of amorphous emotion he never knew existed: somewhere between falling off a cliff and being caught on a mattress.

      “What?” he manages to say, after a few tries.

      Shion nods like a patient guru. “I might not mean any of this tomorrow. I might mean something completely different. My mind might change and I might regret but I don’t regret now. I don’t think the life of an adult is free from flux, Nezumi. I think everyone is breaking sandcastles, constantly, without meaning to.”

      “That’s just indecisive,” Nezumi replies, quickly.

      “It’s my resolve.” Shion counters, and Nezumi finds himself breathless. “I know I can change. I know. I think that I will change. I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

      Nezumi’s brain struggles around the idea, grappling for some sort of hold. He finds himself arguing— arguing makes sense. “There are certain changes that no one should experience—“

      “If you feel like you’ve changed once, I think you can change back too. I think you can keep changing, until you’re okay again.”

      Nezumi’s abruptly aware of the stupid ukulele song playing around them, and finds himself, completely, utterly at a loss.

      Shion’s quiet for a long moment, before putting a hand on Nezumi’s shoulder. He doesn’t startle, or tense. Nezumi holds himself together expertly.

      “Nezumi, can I offer my opinion?” Shion asks.

      “Has that ever stopped you?”

      Shion squeezes his shoulder. Nezumi still doesn’t move. “I don’t want to…hurt you. I just want to tell you something I’ve observed.”

      “I’m not made of glass, go ahead,” Nezumi grouches. Shion raises an eyebrow and he pats Shion’s hand once as apology.

      “Nezumi, it isn’t about being made of glass. It’s about— “

      “Shion, it’s fine,” Nezumi interrupts, gently removing Shion’s hand from his shoulder.

      Shion doesn’t reply. Nezumi takes his hand, presses their palms together and looks into Shion’s concerned eyes. He can handle this. “Go ahead, I mean it.”

      Shion tangles their fingers.

      “I think you want to follow the rules you’ve set. Even when you travel and talk about travel as a fluid, motion-driven thing, you still expect to make sense of each moment, and to give it a definite and clear goal. You give advice about adding flux to your life with confidence—but…I think you’re more afraid of changing than anyone.”

      “No,” announces Nezumi reflexively.

      After all that— Fuck. _Fuck_.

      Shion nods. “Okay.”

      Nezumi didn’t realize his other hand was gripping the beach grass until he pulls some out. Guilt swirls in his stomach as he looks at it. A breeze comes and blows it out of his hand, and clarity hits him, sharp and jagged.

      Shion’s exactly right. How much has Nezumi changed, really? He’s still the same terrified kid he’s always been. He’s the same 16 year-old, punching and breaking and running away. He’s an idiot. He’s always been a—

      “I wish I had words to describe how brilliant I think you are,” Shion says, soft.

      Nezumi startles, looking at him.

      “Where did this come from?”

      “You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met. You see a problem, and you know how to fix it. It’s incredible, and effortless. You say the right thing so often because you’ve got such a strong sense of what you believe.”

      _I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about,_ Nezumi wants to say.

      “And for all the times you say you don’t know why you want to travel, if it hasn’t given you answers, I think—I think it’s because you love it.

      “You love travelling. You love so deeply, I think. You love travelling like you love books, sarcasm and semantics,” Shion hesitates. “Like you love your family.”

      Nezumi’s eyes burn, his grip on Shion’s hand tightens.

      “I think you love travelling, Nezumi, just because you love to travel, and for no other reason. I don’t think it’s so complicated. I don’t think, in this case, that it has to be complicated at all.”

      Nezumi swallows. Shion looks at him, unwavering, relentless, and hopelessly kind.

      “Oh,” he articulates.

      And just like that, Nezumi feels strangely weightless. Lost, but not uncomfortably so, exposed, but with permission. He’s okay. As always, Shion somehow makes him feel okay.

      Shion raises their connected hands and gently kisses the back of Nezumi’s palm. Nezumi doesn’t cry, he breathes, and the beach music plays at the right volume; the child shrieks in the distance and Nezumi secretly hopes they found something nice.

      After a bit, Shion rests his head on Nezumi’s shoulder and starts playing with his fingers.

      “I really don’t know what I’m doing either,” Shion confides, somewhat offhandedly. He has to raise his head in order to look at Nezumi properly. “But I’m glad I’m here.”

      Nezumi kisses him. The action seems to catch them both off guard, but frankly, in Nezumi’s head, there was really no other option. He cups his cheek and pushes Shion’s hair back and presses their lips together, and it’s warm and wet and perfect. Shion grips Nezumi’s shirt, tugging him closer.

      It’s a quick kiss, at first. When they break away, Shion is smiling bright enough to make Nezumi’s soul shake, and his forehead is pressed reassuringly against Nezumi’s. He untangles their fingers and patiently traces Nezumi’s cheek with his thumb.

      “Nezumi,” Shion whispers, fond.

      Nezumi just looks at him, quietly. He reaches up, allowing himself to feel the smooth skin of Shion’s cheek, and Shion leans into his hand easily. It’s not a challenge, or a risk. It’s just Shion, and he’s the most amazing person Nezumi’s ever known.

      Nezumi turns his head, kissing under Shion’s chin, working his way to his ear, and back down the slope of his throat. Shion breathes in satisfyingly as he licks playfully at the side of his neck.

      “Did this before, didn’t I?” He murmurs, and feels Shion’s hand tangle in his hair.

      “In the rain,” Shion agrees, cluing in after a moment. “I thought it was romantic then, even though you—“

      “—ran away.” Nezumi finishes. “Like an idiot.”

      Shion opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but it comes out more as a fantastic-sounding “nmm” when Nezumi gives up on keeping this high school level and starts trailing enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses over his jugular. Shion smells like clean air and sunlight and he straightens up so quickly at Nezumi’s simple touches, like he can’t quite believe he’s here—how the hell did Nezumi ever run from this?

      “No,” Shion says, and Nezumi thinks for a moment he’s talking about the kissing and moves to pull away, but Shion’s grip on his hair is surprisingly committed. His eyes flick to Shion’s, and Nezumi almost immediately feels his face heat up at those fucking eyes.

      “It’s okay,” Shion says, not for the first time, and then he’s leading Nezumi into another kiss.

      It’s definitely a step up from their admittedly trashy, yet somehow satisfying makeout session in the car. Nezumi rests his hand on Shion’s back and hip, rooting him down carefully to the top of the dune, hoping their balance holds out, and Shion—well, Shion’s always been good at this but now he seems…distracted.

      One moment he’s running his fingers through Nezumi’s hair, like he’s trying to detangle it, the next he’s trying to memorize the feeling Nezumi’s arm, or feel up his leg. It’s flattering how indecisive he’s being, but it’s a little concerning.

      Nezumi breaks the kiss. “Shion,” he whispers, kissing the corners of his mouth. “You know, if you pick a specific area, you might find you like it there.”

      Shion’s face is already flushed, but his eyes are stubborn. To Nezumi’s great amusement he shakes his head. “I want to touch all of you.”

      They’ll work on it—is what Nezumi thinks, before Shion unapologetically goes for his neck. And then it’s Nezumi’s turn to get distracted, because Shion’s heartbeat is up against his own, and his tongue and teeth are getting involved and—shit— Nezumi might to have to deal with some marks later.

      Never mind they don’t need to work anything at all. Maybe they’re already fucking there.

      Nezumi can’t hide the sound he makes, when Shion starts trailing his fingers down his back and stops his attack to make deliberate, sincere, eye contact. He’s asking for permission— Nezumi realizes over the pounding in his ears. His heart squeezes as he presses his scars a little closer to Shion’s hand, thrown by how desperately he wants to continue.

      Shion kisses him properly again—all passion and gracelessness, and Nezumi stops thinking all together, focusing only on Shion’s breath and the gentle rhythmic push and pull of their bodies and the feeling of Shion rubbing circles on his back. Sand falls around them uncertainly, but they only grip each other tighter. Nezumi allows himself to finally, finally, relax.

      He used to be certain that the best kisses were the aggressive kind with swelling quaking emotion, but kissing Shion on the beach feels like falling in love with Shion: soft, unrelenting, and curious. Nezumi’s certain he used to be wrong.

* * *

        After attempting to make the particularly ill-conceived dream of getting Shion into Nezumi’s lap a reality, they slip right off the sand dune. Nezumi falls backward, practically somersaulting, and barely manages to catch himself a foot or so up the dune. Shion unfortunately, does not possess such reflexes and falls swiftly on top of him tumbling them down the rest of the way and covering them in a lovely layer of sand.

      “Ow,” Shion grunts.

      “ _Ow_ ,” Nezumi repeats.

      “That didn’t work,” Shion says, awkwardly untangling himself from where he landed on Nezumi’s legs. His face is bright red and he’s still breathing just this side of too hard, hair mussed, with sand in his cardigan he’s sloppily pushing off.

      _Damn. Nice._ Nezumi thinks intelligently, before remembering to check if his leg is broken. It isn’t. He moves so his burning cheek rests on Shion’s discarded bag instead of the sand. Something flat and hard in there broke his fall, but was bent in the process. Nezumi’s dreads checking the damage. He breathes in and out, trying to clear his head. “Tell me, just how many brain cells have I lost if I’m managing to consistently get into these situations, with you?”

      Shion shrugs. “We were able to maintain our balance for a surprisingly long amount of time.”

      “That didn’t answer my question,” Nezumi grumbles, finally sitting up. He reaches into Shion’s bag. “I might have broke whatever was in here—“

      Nezumi begins to apologize but finds his voice trailing off.

      In his hands, is a very bent copy of Timon of Athens.

      “Oh,” Shion says, quickly taking it. “I’m glad I finished it, the cover’s all bent now.”

      “You brought it to the beach?” Nezumi stands up, incredulous. “After finishing it?”

      Shion frowns, “It wasn’t terrible.”

      Nezumi stares at him. Shion waffles.

      “It was…Well…”

      Nezumi shakes his head. “Don’t.”

      “It wasn’t his best work.”

      …

      Nezumi raises an eyebrow.

      “It was bad,” Shion admits, finally. “It was…pretty bad.”

      Nezumi grins, swiping the book from Shion’s hand. “Come on.”

      He takes off toward the beach. Most of the towels are gone. The sun’s mostly left the sky, and the families have gone home. The beach looks like a beach again, sand, water, and the few stragglers who are unwilling to admit the ocean’s too cold to swim in now.

      Nezumi kicks off his boots, and motions for Shion to do the same. Shion looks at him confused for a moment, but quickly follows his lead.

      “Let it be said,” Nezumi starts, holding Timon of Athens in the air and taking a step into the frigid water. “I do not abide the destruction of books. Any books. But this Shion, is not a book— it is a play. And, well, accidents happen.”

      Shion blinks. “You’re going to throw it in the sea?”

      “Shion, is that even a question at this point?” Nezumi says, holding Timon out over the water. “I suppose I could just drop it.”

      “Wait!” Shion protests, and Nezumi does.

      “Can I help?” Shion asks, entirely unexpected. He grabs the other end of the book and smiles at Nezumi.

      Nezumi really needs to stop being surprised every time Shion does something entirely strange but, there you have it.

      “Count of three, then. Ready? One…” Nezumi swings their arms once.

      “Two…” Shion grins, swinging again, a little higher.

      “Three!” they announce together, letting go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, everyone. 
> 
> Thank you so much for everyone who stood by me and my infrequent updates and yelled at me/chatted with me in the comments and made every update exciting and special. This isn't the last of my No.6 writings.
> 
> Happy September 7th!


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